Resident Evil: Operation Southwoods
by AlexK86
Summary: After an attempt on her life, Helena must work with Leon, Jill, and the mysterious Ada Wong to uncover the cause of a T-Virus outbreak in Detroit. As their investigation progresses they're drawn into a conspiracy beyond their comprehension. This (AU)RE story contains elements of erotica, mystery, intrigue, horror and romance. Rated T-M: VIOLENCE, SEX, LANG LeonXAdaXHelena Plz FFR!
1. Chapter 1: Past Is Prologue

**Disclaimer: Resident Evil, it's characters and all other copyrighted terms belong to Capcom and its respective owners.**

**Note on Resident Evil "Operation Southwoods": This fanfic follows three characters (Leon Kennedy, Ada Wong, and Helena Harper) as they investigate a T-Virus outbreak in Detroit. This is an AU, or 'Alternate Universe', story taking place after the events of RE3. I tried to stay faithful to the lore, but may take some liberties here or there. There will be some adult subject matter (nudity, coarse language, violence). Starting a new series is alway difficult, so if you like it, please REVIEW,FAVOURITE, and FOLLOW!**

**Silent Hill Fanfic: If you like what you read here, I have a SH fanfic which has been very well received... Feel free to check it out.**

**Note on Chapter One: This chapter initiates events. It introduces our main characters and the premise of the story. ENJOY!**

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**Part One**

_On September 20th, 1998, a biological weapon called the "T-Virus" was released into the Raccoon City water supply. Though the exact purpose of its release is undetermined, its effects were undeniable. The virus spread rapidly through the city, effectively killing the majority of its residents within days. Clinically, they were dead; however, their bodies were reanimated, displaying symptoms resembling zombiism. The virus in question was developed by a multi-national conglomerate known as the "Umbrella Corporation". Officially, Umbrella was a government contractor which made pharmaceuticals, but there was a second division to Umbrella, responsible for making biological weapons for the US government. Three days after the outbreak went public, the President of the United States declared a state of emergency. On October 1st, an undetermined party ordered the use of nuclear weapons to wipe out the epidemic - this would come to be known as "The Raccoon City Incident". The small, Mid-Western city was eradicated - only 10,000 residents managed to escape before the bombing._

_The threat was thought to be over, and the US government engaged in a massive cover-up to shield Umbrella and itself from culpability. They blamed foreign terrorist organisations for the outbreak and the meltdown of a nuclear reactor for the catastrophic explosion which followed. But less than two months later, an ostensible terrorist attack occurred in Detroit. The Patrick V. MacNamara building was bombed, and the T-Virus was once again released. Within hours, the media reported that the bombing was carried out by an Arab-Iranian Al Qaida operative, named Karim Al-Sayid. A public outrage emerged, and a growing demand for war soon followed. Now, congressmen and senators are calling for a declaration of war with Iran - though the Iranian government denies responsibility for the attack. Only a handful of people are aware that Umbrella created the T-Virus, and there is reasonable suspicion that the multi-national corporation may be involved in the terrorist attack._

_I'm headed to Detroit to investigate Umbrella's involvement in the Detroit terrorist attack, and to find hard evidence to implicate all parties involved in the development of the T-Virus as well as the Raccoon City Incident._

_- Leon S. Kennedy (12/25/1998)_

**Chapter One: Past Is Prologue**

Detroit, MI (12/25/1998)

Making her way down the long hall of an apartment high rise, a woman in a long red dress walks briskly past its many doors. A long slit down the side of her dress reveals a long alluring leg. Raising a hand to her face, she brushes her bangs away from her face. Her black hair hangs just past her chin. A woman of striking beauty, she is of Asian ethnicity, with wide almond-shaped, hazel eyes and sensuous lips which glisten with a soft pink lip-gloss. A small black purse hangs from her shoulder with a long, thin strap. Her red high heels glide silently over the carpeted hall. She moves with cat-like grace, a sexuality underscoring her fluid strides. Finally, coming to her door, she grabs her purse and searches through it. She retrieves a key. She slides it into the keyhole, and, turning the knob, steps inside her apartment.

As she opens the door, there is a loud, sustained buzzing. Turning to a keypad on the wall, it beeps as she punches in a four-digit code and the buzzing stops. Closing the door behind her, she stops, her eyes drawn to an object lying on the floor. She kneels down to pick it up. _An envelope._ A name is written across the front in cursive: _Ada._ Glancing over the envelope, she raises a leg, sliding off one shoe. Then, raising the other leg, she removes her second shoe and sets them neatly by the door. She walks through the living room of a luxurious suite. Fully furnished, the apartment features a chenille couch with a floral design, a large television and a glass coffee table with a bouquet of lilies set in a tall crystal vase. Tall black bookshelves stand on each side of the television with a small library of books lining their shelves. Large oil paintings adorn the walls. Still life pictures depicting wooded landscapes. Cutting across the living room, she opens the envelope, pulling out a small card. It's a note. As she steps into the hall, passing the kitchen, she proceeds to read the note.

_Dearest Ada,_

_I'm sorry that I cannot be with you, today of all days. It is with great sadness that I sit here and write this note, all too aware that we must be separated. You are, after all, on assignment. Too often our work splits us apart, but know that I am thinking of you. I wait with great longing for you to return to me in Washington._

_Merry Christmas,_

_- D.C.S._

An ambiguous smile spreads across Ada's face. Coming to a door at the end of the hall, she opens it, stepping into a small bathroom. Closing the door behind her, she tosses the note into a waste bin by the sink. She steps to the mirror. The mirror's frame and faucet are chrome, and the bathroom looks luxuriant. This is temporary residence for Ada, secured by her superiors for the duration of her assignment. Reaching behind her back, she unzips her dress, pulling it up over her head. She hangs the dress from a pair of hooks on the door. Reaching behind her back she unhooks her black-lace bra, sliding it over her arms and hanging it with her dress. Ada's breasts are full and supple, with pert, rosy nipples. She walks over to the bathtub, sliding the shower doors open. Bending over she turns on the water, running her hand under to test the temperature. Pulling the diverter, the water sprays from the shower head. Ada shimmies off her black-lace panties, drawing them down over her shapely behind. She slides her legs out one at a time and drops them into a hamper by the tub.

Stepping into the shower, she slides the door closed behind her. Standing below the shower head, the hot water pours over her head and body. She raises her face into the water, letting it run over her breasts and finely toned midriff. Turning around she grabs a bottle of shampoo from an adjacent shelf. Pouring some out into her hands she runs it through her hair, massaging it into a lather. Throwing back her head, she rinses out her hair. Turning around, she grabs a pink luffa from a hook below the shower head. She grabs a bottle from the shelf, pouring body wash over the luffa. Exhaling, she moans softly as she runs the luffa over her breasts and shoulders. Building a lather, the luffa runs down one arm, then the other. Bending over, Ada washes her legs, then turns around under the water, rinsing her body off. Suddenly, she snaps her head towards the door, alerted by a distant buzzing. _The alarm._ Seconds later, there is a smashing sound and the buzzing stops.

Moving quickly, Ada steps out of the shower, leaving it running and sliding the door closed behind her. Hastily, she grabs a towel off the rack and dries herself. She kneels to the floor and wipes it dry, then tosses the towel in the hamper. Stepping over to the door, she pins her back against the wall to listen in. Her heart racing, she hears the sound of footsteps in the hall. _Two people._ The footsteps near, until they come to the bathroom door. The doorknob turns slowly, and the door quietly opens. A man steps into the room, dressed in black, with a bulletproof vest on and a hand gun in hand. A silencer is screwed to its end. As he passes door, Ada steps forward throwing a kick into his midsection. With rapid movements she grabs his hand, twisting his wrist and pulling the gun loose. Raising her leg she kicks her attacker in the back, knocking him down onto his chest. Throwing the door wide open, she fires at the assailant in the hand. A sharp pop, and bullet penetrates his forehead. Blood sprays against the opposite wall as the assassin's body drops to the floor. Ada grabs the first man's shoulder and forces him onto his back. She drops to her knees, straddling his chest, and presses the muzzle of her gun against his forehead. He looks back at her with a defiant expression. A latino man, his face is scarred and rugged, a face which has seen war.

"Who sent you?" Ada asks, her tone calm but threatening.

He stares back at her smouldering eyes. Without a trace of fear in his expression, he remains silent.

"Who do you work for? Why do you want me dead?" she growls pushing the barrel into his skin.

Staring back at her with a steely-eyed expression, he opens his mouth, replying to her in Spanish.

"A veces, la democracia debe ser bañado en sangre."

Ada grins, letting out a slight laugh.

"If it's blood you want…"

Ada squeezes the trigger. With a muted pop, her assassin dies, a bloody bullet hole left in the centre of his head. Rising to her feet, Ada turns to look at the other body, lying dead outside her bathroom door. She walks over to him. The second man in this operation in white, on his wrist a small tattoo. _A Russian flag… They're mercenaries._ Her arm hanging at her side, she loosens her grip on the gun, dropping it to the floor with a thud. Standing naked between these two dead men, Ada sighs, her heart rate slowing.

"If you wanted me dead, you should have sent more than two assassins."

Detroit, MI (12/26/1998)

Raising one hand to guide her long auburn hair behind her ear, Helena Harper sits over a manilla folder lying open on a cluttered desk. She sits in a small cluttered room with a desk lamp shining down on the documents she's studying. Atop the stack of papers, a picture of an Arabic man, a butterfly clip clasping it to his profile. _'Karim Al-Sayid' born 1972, Arab-Iranian._ His biography is convoluted. Born in Iran, Al-Sayid presumably defected, seeking asylum in America. He became a CIA agent briefly, working in counterterrorism. He infiltrated Al-Qaida, leaking information about their activities to the CIA and NSA. But it's suspected that he was an Iranian double agent the whole time. On December 24th, he entered the Patrick V. MacNamara building, planting a bomb on its top floor. The bomb exploded and the building collapsed killing 854 people, and releasing an aerial strain of the T-Virus into Detroit.

Harper was sent to Detroit to investigate the terrorist attack on the MacNamara building. A workaholic by nature, Helena hurried over to her desk without removing her work clothes. She still wears her black, heeled shoes, close fitting, pin-stripe pants which flare at the bottom, a grey sweater vest over her light pink dress shirt; and, strapped to her belt, a standard issue 9 mm glock. A woman of modest, under spoken beauty, her focused brown eyes and serious expression give her a professional air necessary for a woman in the CIA. She dresses conservatively, her dress shirt buttoned up over her full breasts. Although she's excelled in every project assign to her, the spectre of sexism always looms over her, so she guards her sexuality. Majoring in criminology, she finished at the top of her class, joining the police force soon after. Enlisted as a criminal profiler, Helena excelled rapidly before finding herself in the CIA. Building a prestigious reputation, her higher-ups assigned her the MacNamara case. But on her second day, she finds herself at a crossroads. Inconsistencies in the case become more glaring, and Harper becomes more perplexed.

As she pours over her files, a distant sound catches her attention. Glass shatters, a window has been broken at her Detroit townhouse. Cautiously, Helena rises from her wooden chair and walks to the door. Looking down the darkened hall, she places a hand over her gun as she listens in. She hears glass trampled underfoot. A shot of panic cuts through her. Someone has broken in through the window. Helena strains to hear the faint sounds coming from her living room. _Two people, maybe more._ She unbuttons the strap of her holster and pulls her gun out, placing one hand on its base and pinning her shoulder against the doorframe, pointing the gun down at the ground and readying herself. Hushed whispers come from around the corner. She feels her heart pounding in her chest. She's an investigator. Though she's trained to fire a gun, she's rarely had to do it. Helena raises her gun as a figure comes around the corner.

"Freeze!" Helena shouts.

She dodges around the corner as her shadowed assailant opens fire. Reacting instinctively, Helena spins around the corner, firing two shots into the darkness then dodging back around the doorway. The darkness concealing him for the most part, she manages to make out some of his features. _White male, around thirty, jeans, blue jacket._ Steadying her breathing, there is a lull in the gunfire. She hears them speaking amongst themselves. _Three assailants… I need to get out of here as quickly as possible. If I get to the storage room I can climb out the window to the alley._ Taking a deep breath, Helena steps into the hall. As she hurries backwards away from the gunmen she fires two cover shots to keep them at bay, then dodges into a room at the end of the hall as they return fire. It's a small cluttered room filled with boxes. She snatches a gym bag off the floor, throwing it over there shoulder. Stepping to the window a drop of sweat rolls down her forehead as she slides it upwards then steps up on a box, sliding one leg out of the window. She ducks her head under the window, then stops, listening in on the conversation for a moment. Ducking under the window she draws her other leg over and lowers herself down along the outside wall.

Helena drops herself to the ground. Landing on her feet, she grunts stumbling slightly on the wet asphalt. Regaining her balance, she wastes no time and takes off running through the alleyway. Her heels clap loudly as hits the street, reverberating through the narrow aleyway. The distant moaning of zombies provides an ominous ambience, the sharp winter air pinches her skin. Running through the littered alley, she hears her blood pounding in her ears. Someone wants her dead. As she runs past a dumpster a shadowed figure jumps out behind her. He grabs her around the waist with one arm and clasps a hand over her mouth, pulling her behind the dumpster. Helena thrashes around, struggling to free herself. She throws an elbow in his side then tears herself loose. She spins around, pointing the gun at her attacker.

"Put you hands up!" she commands, her assailant complying.

"Quiet," he whispers, his hands raised, his posture unthreatening, "your life is in danger."

"Turn around," she whispers, heeding his warning.

He turns his back to her. Helena presses her gun against his back. She proceeds to check his pockets looking for some identification.

"If I wanted to kill you I would have shot you in the back," he says, tilting his head down at the gun on his hip, "We don't have time for this. They'll be out here soon and we can't hold them off on our own."

Grabbing his shoulder, she turns him around, his long, chin-length hair hanging over his face.

"Who are you?" Helena asks, skeptically. He drops his hands to his sides.

"My name is Leon Kennedy. I'm here to help."


	2. Chapter 2: The Plot Thickens

**Disclaimer: Resident Evil, it's characters and all other copyrighted terms belong to Capcom and its respective owners.**

******Note on Chapter Two: This is the big plot dump which sets up the story. As I've said earlier, I will have to make some changes to the mythos... You may notice that I've changed Helena year of birth... If I didn't, she'd only be 9 years old.**

******Please Fav, Follow, and Review... But most of all, ENJOY!**

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**Chapter Two: The Plot Thickens**

Detroit, MI (12/26/1998)

A thin layer of snow covers the Detroit street, stray flakes falls to the ground, intermittent gusts of wind blowing them around. Orange light reflecting off the snow, the night's street glows with an ominous aura as Leon and Helena rush towards a black sedan parked along the side of the road. The city is in total disarray, broken down cars are scattered around the street, a fire smoulders from a neighbouring townhouse. Newspapers, caught up in the brisk winter wind, whirl around in circles. Helena hurries around to the passenger's side, Leon to the driver's side. Pulling open the doors, they step inside the car, closing the doors after themselves. Leon puts his keys in the ignition and starts the car as Helena drops the gym bag at her feet. The engine kicks in with a growl then pulls out from between two cars, tires screeching as they take off down the street. As they pick up speed, zombies meander around the car. Their faces pale and rotting, they reach out at the vehicle, turning as it passes them. Lights wax and wane, passing over the pair as they race past the street lamps lining their course. Helena turns to her driver.

"What the hell is going on?" she asks.

"Somebody wants you dead," Leon replies.

"Clearly… But why?"

"I'm not sure."

Helena curses under her breath, turning to look out the rear window to see if her assailants are following them, but there is no car in sight. She turns back to Leon.

"How did you know that someone was going to try to kill me? How did you know where I'd be?"

Leon sighs, his eyes fixed on the road. Raising one hand from the steering wheel, he runs a hand through his long, dark blonde hair. He's a strikingly attractive man. With piercing blue eyes, and boyish good looks, Leon looks more like a model than a cop. But with his steely-eyed expression and commanding presence, his iron will shines through. He wears a faded black leather jacket, two white stripes wrapped around each bicep, and under it a close-fitting, navy blue dress shirt with its top two buttons undone. Helena can see the straps of a gun holster around his chest, a silver gun shines from beneath his jacket. With it, her wears a pair of form fitting, faded jeans and a pair of black dress shoes. A second, black gun, sits in a holster clipped to his belt. As her nerves begin to steady, Helena finds herself taken with her mysterious rescuer, but remains suspicious, unsure of his motivations. Gathering his thoughts, Leon turns to face Helena for a moment, who looks back with a severe, quizzical expression.

"I came to Detroit in the aftermath of the attack," He starts, looking back to the road, "I'm here to investigate the outbreak… Yesterday, I made my way to the outskirts of the city, where law enforcement and government agents had assembled to discuss the attack. Undercover. While there, a woman bumped into me. I didn't think anything of it at the time, but later that day I found something in my pocket. The woman had slipped a note into my pocket. The note was signed by a, uh… an associate of mine."

"And that's how you heard about me?" Helena asks. Leon nods.

"The note said that I needed to find you… That you had sensitive information pertaining to the bombing. But that I needed to get to you quickly, your life was in danger… There would be an assassination on December 26, after dark."

"And where exactly are we going now?"

"To meet my contact. Her note contained a time and place to meet."

Helena looks downward for a moment, turning her thoughts inward. _I have no idea who this guy is. He could've shot me in the back in the alleyway… It wouldn't make any sense for him to do anything other thank kill me. But maybe he doesn't want me dead. Maybe he needs me for some other purpose…_ Helena looks over his face, trying to get a feel for him.

"How do I know I can trust you?"

Leon turns to face her once more, street lights passing over him as he narrows his eyes.

"You have no choice," he says.

The black sedan swerves around a pair of zombie standing in the middle of the street. Turning back into its lane, the car races onward. Descending deeper into downtown Detroit, the throngs of zombies grow thicker, forcing Leon to manoeuvre more nimbly as he advances. Helena looks out over this morbid, apocalyptic scene. She had only arrived in Detroit on Christmas Day, the horrific scene still shakes her. When she was sent to Detroit by her superiors, she was warned that she would need to be able defend herself. The memory of her first kill flashes through her mind. _Walking around the rubble of the MacNamara building, a zombie cornered her. What used to be a man of thirty, was now some twisted monster. The skin had peeled off its face and hung from its chin. A pair of holes where its nose should be, its teeth exposed from front to back, its lidless eyes staring lifelessly. Terror gripped Helena and she froze up, but as it closed in on her, instinct took over. Raising her gun, she shot it in the head, blowing the side of its skull to pieces. As its body collapsed to the floor, she stood frozen. She stared down at it, her body trembling._ A few minutes pass with silence, Leon eventually breaking the silence.

"What do you know about Karim Al-Sayid?" he asks.

"What makes you think I know anything about him?" Helena asks suspiciously, snapping out of her morbid daydream.

"I've learned a lot about you in the last 24 hours…" The black sedan swerves around another zombie, rocking Helena in her seat, "You're a CIA agent… Special Agent Helena Harper. Born in 1977, you're a Harvard graduate, majoring in criminology. You joined the police force as a criminal profiler fresh out of college. Advancing through the ranks rapidly, you were eventually enlisted by the CIA. Due to a string of successes you were assigned to the MacNamara case."

"How do you know all this?" Helena asks, taken off-guard by his breadth of knowledge.

"Some of this comes from my contact, some through personal investigative work."

"Who do you work for?" she asks.

"Nobody…" Leon says, rounding a corner, "I'm an ex-cop from Raccoon City… I'm one of the few survivors."

"Wait, wait, wait," Helena says with a surprised tone, "I thought your name sounded familiar. You're _the_ Leon Kennedy? You're something of a living legend."

"I'm honoured," Leon responds dispassionately, "Now it's your turn… Tell me what you know about the MacNamara case."

"That information is classified," Helena replies, "I can't disclose that to you, or anybody else."

"Look," Leon snaps impatiently, "You're going to have to trust me. They want you dead. You must be on to something."

"Who wants me dead?"

"I don't know," Leon responds, "I suspect Umbrella."

"Umbrella? The pharmaceutical company?"

"Pharmaceuticals are only a front," Leon says, "More than two-thirds of the corporation involve the development of biological weapons. Umbrella is the company that created the T-Virus."

"The T-Virus was produced by foreign governments," Helena replies.

"That's the official story. But the truth is that Umbrella created the T-Virus _for_ the government. STARS members Chris Redfield and Jill Valentine, discovered a secret Umbrella lab below the Spencer Mansion in the Arklay mountains. There they uncovered definite proof that Umbrella was responsible for the virus. After the breakout in Raccoon, I saw their laboratories for myself… Foreign governments have never been in possession of the T-Virus."

"So what's your theory?" Helena asks quizzically.

"In 1996 the US military bombed a pharmaceutical warehouse in the Sudan. This was done under the pretext that they were manufacturing biological weapons for terroristic purposes… But that turned out to be wrong. In reality, they were producing cheap medications for the Sudanese population, and the bombing was carried out at the behest of the Umbrella Corporation. The cheap medicine was cutting into Umbrella's profits in Africa. An investigative reporter uncovered this conspiracy and soon after the government went into damage control. The President admitted that they had bombed a legitimate pharmaceutical organisation, though their involvement with Umbrella was suppressed."

Helena looks over Leon with a skeptical expression.

"What does this have to do with the MacNamara incident?"

"While she probed into the bombing in the Sudan, this investigative reporter discovered a cache of documents pertaining to Umbrella's bio-weapons division. The government has been protecting their covert programs for decades, going so far as to have people murdered. The MacNamara bombing and the subsequent T-Virus outbreak seem to suggest that Umbrella must be behind the terrorist attack, and presumably the US government as well."

Helena shakes her head dismissively, a grin across her face. She looks out the window briefly, watching the urban landscape flying past her. Letting out a slight laugh, she turns back to Leon.

"Do you know how paranoid this sounds?"

"You seem to have a lot of questions," Leon says flatly, "Let me ask you something."

"Shoot."

"Who do you think wants you dead? And why?"

Hanging her head, Helena's hair falls over her face and her expression changes from one of derision to one of concern. She looks out the window once more and exhales.

"Why?" she says, pausing for a moment, "I have no idea… But as to who… Initially, I thought it may be somebody affiliated with Al-Qaida, but that doesn't add up."

"Why is that?" Leon asks, turning to face her.

"Terrorists rarely try to cover their tracks," she says, not so much responding to his question as much as thinking out loud, "The whole point of terrorism is to make a political point… Why would they want to kill the investigator? If, as it's presumed, the Iranian government is behind the attack, they'd probably want me dead. But how could they know I was even assigned to the case, unless they have agents working within the United States. And, even more perplexing, the men who came to kill me were white."

"White?" Leon asks. Helena nods.

"And they spoke with American accents. As I climbed out my window, I heard one of them tell another to 'get the documents'… Whoever it was, they wanted to obstruct the investigation."

"How were they dressed?"

"I didn't get too good a look. Plain, street clothing."

"Is it possible they're NSA or CIA?"

"Those are my _coworkers_ you're talking about," Helena snaps back, offended.

Leon rounds another corner. Passing a smouldering, overturned police car he clips a zombie, sending it sprawling to the ground. He turns over the evidence in his head for a moment, trying to construct a narrative. Helena cuts back in, jumping backwards to an earlier point.

"The Sudan bombing was a mistake. The government has admitted as much."

"I don't think it's as simple as that," Leon replies, "if it were, it would constitute a colossal intelligence failure. The pharmaceutical factory was open to the public. UN officials had inspected it only three months prior. In any case, the reporter who blew the top off this story leaked classified memos between Umbrella and Pentagon officials, orchestrating the attack."

"Who is this reporter?" Helena inquires skeptically.

"I can't say."

"What, you wouldn't trust a _government_ agent?" she asks derisively.

"No," Leon responds, rounding the corner with his eyes fixed on the road, "I wouldn't trust a woman."

The black sedan pulls into a large parking garage, slowing to a crawl. Green, florescent lights shine overhead, giving the vacant lot an eerie atmosphere. Leon turns right, parking his car into an empty space. The garage is abandoned for the most part, most people having evacuated the city, but a few cars are parked around. Detroit is under military quarantine, all roads out heavily guarded. The citizens of Detroit fared better than those of Raccoon City, over a million people were successfully evacuated. Millions more were caught in the outbreak. The dim green lighting covers a small area. Most of the garage is blanketed in shadow. Turning off the ignition, Leon pulls out the keys and they open their doors, stepping out of the vehicle in synchronicity. In the distance they hear the restless moaning of zombies as they walk around the back of the car, heading deeper into the parkade. The ceiling hangs low, and their shoes click on the asphalt, reverberating around their cavernous environment. There is no sign of life. An anxiety comes over Helena. _What the hell am I doing here? I have no idea who this guy is, or who we're here to meet… This could be a trap for all I know. _As they get to the middle of the parkade, they stop and look around themselves.

"This is the spot," Leon says.

"Looks like your contact is running late," Helena replies, concealing her suspicions.

"I'm never late," a sultry feminine voice echoes from across the room.

They hear the sound of clicking heels off in the distance. Helena places a hand over her gun. A silhouette approaches, cloaked in shadow. Ada Wong emerges from the darkness, stepping under the green florescent lights. With a self-satisfied grin, she walks towards them, one hand resting on her swaying hips. She wears a striking scarlet dress shirt, unbuttoned halfway down her chest. Her sleeves rolled up just beneath her elbows, she wears long black gloves which match her skin-tight leather pants. Around her waist, a belt carrying a gun holster and a couple black leather pouches. Striding gracefully, her long black, pointed-heel boots tap lightly. Helena and Leon fall silent as she approaches, this mysterious woman arresting their attention. She stops before them. Paying no attention to Helena she looks over Leon with an illusive smile, then looks into his eyes for a long moment.

"Leon Kennedy," she says with a reminiscent tone.

"Ada Wong," he replies.

"It looks like you got her out alive," she says, speaking as though Helena wasn't there.

Wasting no time, Leon cuts to the chase. He had been burned by Ada before. In the Umbrella laboratory, deep beneath the streets of Raccoon City, she professed her love for him. As she lay there in his arms, he watched her die. Or, at least, he thought she had died. But Ada Wong would return, and now she looms over him, shadows him. Seeming to watch over him, but keeps her distance, appearing before him, then disappearing again. She always determines when and where they will meet, always in command and control of the situation, but never letting him know her true intentions.

"How did you know she was being targeted?" Leon asks.

"I have my ways," Ada answers ambiguously, "It looks like she's not the only one on a hit list."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Two hit men came for me yesterday. Caught me in a very… _compromising_ position."

Ada pauses, giving Leon a moment to try to figure out what that means, but he knows Ada all too well and sidesteps her innuendos.

"The same people after Helena?"

"No."

"How do you know that?"

"If I told you that," Ada says, leaning in with a smile, "that would ruin all the fun."

"I don't have time for your bullshit, Ada."

She draws back, feigning a more serious expression.

"The men who attacked me were Russian and, I presume, Chilean."

"Mercenaries?"

"Precisely," Ada says, poking him in the chest in a playful, somewhat condescending manner, "I searched their bodies… They wore the insignia 'XV'… They're from a paramilitary group, formerly called the 'UBCS'."

"Umbrella mercenaries."

"Correct."

"Why would Umbrella want you dead?" Helena interjects.

Ada turns to face her, as though just realising she's there. A forced smile comes across her face.

"Before I dispatched with the gentleman, the Chilean said something to me. 'A veces, la democracia debe ser bañado en sangre,'" Ada recites in clumsy Spanish, then translates, "Sometimes democracy must be bathed in blood."

"Pinochet," Helena says.

"Aren't you a clever girl," Ada replies in a patronising tone, she turns her attention back over to Leon, "It seems I pose some threat to the status quo… I'd be lying if I said I wasn't flattered."

"I'm sure they have a good reason to want you dead," Leon says cynically.

Ada Wong smiles, laughing slightly.

"Let me ask you something," she starts, "What took down the MacNamara building?"

"A bomb," Leon replies.

"Yes, but _which one_?" Ada looks over the couple, giving them a moment to take in her question, delighted by her little game, "In the immediate aftermath of the bombing, a Detroit newspaper interviewed one of the few survivors who worked in the building. She was a secretary. According to this woman, she was out on lunch break. As she was returning in the afternoon, she saw the bomb go off on the top floor, blowing out the windows. The blast produced a huge cloud of smoke, but little fire. She turned to run, and as she did so, she heard a _second explosion_."

"It was the sound of the building collapsing," Helena interjects.

"That's what she said… But only _after_ the official story came out. Originally, she said she distinctly heard a second explosion, _then_ the building collapsing… Think about it… Any explosion strong enough to take down a building would have killed the T-Virus. The first bomb was planted on the top floor to maximise the range of the viral cloud, but could never take down a building. It collapsed _into the basement_… There must have been a second bomb planted at the very bottom."

"If the point was to release the T-Virus," Leon asks, perplexed, "why even bother with a second bomb at all? It seems like an unnecessary risk."

"Ah," Ada replies, holding a finger in the air, "_the plot thickens_… Do you know who was located in that building?"

A moment of silence passes, with Helena and Leon looking back at Ada.

"FBI," Helena says.

"More specifically," Ada starts, "Special Agent, Anthony Shafer. He was in the process of an investigation. An investigation into _whom,_ you ask? None other than Al-Sayid. Shafer had made repeated attempts to contact the CIA, to warn them that he had hard evidence that Al-Sayid was planning a terrorist attack within the United States, going so far as to specify the nature of this attack. But his requests were repeatedly denied. Had the CIA heeded his warnings, he would have never got into the MacNamara building. When the building collapsed, Shafer was killed, and along with him, all files pertaining to Al-Sayid."

"Whoever killed Shafer is also after Helena," Leon concludes.

"It would seem so."

"This is wild conjecture," Helena objects, "There is no proof of this supposed 'second bomb'… And as for Shafer's death, did it occur to you that there may be another explanation. For all you know this may just be a coincidence. Al-Sayid was an Al-Qaida operative, with ties to the Iranian government. Whether or not the T-Virus was created by Umbrella is irrelevant to this case. Somehow, Iran got a hold of the virus, and supplied it to Al-Sayid. Or maybe the Iranian government is killing off the investigators to conceal their connection to the bombing."

"You're an intelligent woman, Helena," Ada says, "Naive, but intelligent."

"They didn't hire me for my good looks," Helena replies.

"Clearly."

Helena and Ada exchange an icy glare. Raising a hand to her brow, Ada brushes back her bangs, guiding them behind one ear. She locks eyes with Helena, as though staring her down. With a confident smile, she pulls her ace.

"But the story gets stranger still," Ada adds, "You see, as it turns out, Karim Al-Sayid was a CIA operative."

"What?" Leon exclaims.

"A long time CIA agent… He spent years in counterterrorism, infiltrated Al-Qaida, and for years leaked sensitive information to the US government… But you already knew that, didn't you Agent Harper."

Helena stares back at her, trying to maintain a neutral expression, but her silence only serves as confirmation of Ada's story. Leon looks over at Helena, and immediately realises that what Ada is saying is true.

"There must be more," Leon interjects, "Your note said you had something to give me."

"I thought you'd be happy to see me. I've told you everything I can… Ms. Harper is the one with the answers, whether she knows it or not," Ada reaches into her back pocket, pulling out a silver key, "And I thought you'd want this."

She hands the key over to Leon.

"On the outskirts of the city you'll find a sprawling mansion. It belongs to Jinhai Shen, a Chinese national. He's a major shareholder in Umbrella. Like the Spencer Mansion, Shen Manor should have an underground laboratory. I have it on good authority that the laboratory contains a number of Umbrella's prototypes, including the T-Virus vaccine. You may be able to find some of the answers you're look for there."

"What's in it for you?" Leon asks, suspiciously.

"I'm hurt," Ada replies, pressing a hand to her heart, "Maybe I did it out of the goodness of my heart… You know I have a soft spot for you, Mr. Kennedy."

She steps close to Leon, running one hand around his back and placing the other on his cheek. Her eyes looking longingly over his face, she presses her lips against his, in a long passionate kiss. Leon neither reciprocates nor resists. She turns her head, kissing him once more. Helena leans on one leg, looking away with an impatient expression. Drawing back, their lips smack. Ada looks into Leon's eyes, running her hand over his face affectionately. She presses her thumb to his mouth, wiping off her pink lip gloss. Her other hand slides down his back then falls to her side. Ada hand slides from his chin as she steps back, smiling ambiguously.

"Don't you trust me?" Ada asks mischievously.

Turning her back to them, she starts walking away, then abruptly stops and turns back around. She raises a hand in the air with her index finger extended.

"Oh! I almost forgot," Ada reaches around her back, grabbing a black cellular phone and tossing it to Leon, "If you need to contact me, use that phone. Your cell is being tapped."

Ada turns around once more. Her hips swaying as she walks, she disappears into the shadows. Leon and Helena face each other for a moment, Helena raising her eyebrows with an amused expression.

"Well, I take it there's some history there?" she says.

"Don't ask."

They turn and make their way back to their car. Their heals tapping on the asphalt, zombies moan in the distance. Helena runs a hand through her hair.

"Do you trust her?" she asks.

"No," Leon replies, "Not entirely… She wouldn't help us if she didn't have something to gain. The woman is a narcissist, and a borderline sociopath. She'll say and do whatever she needs to to get what she wants… But I believe what she said about the MacNamara incident."

As they near the car the sound of a revving engine cuts through the silence. Walking around the vehicle, they step to their doors and open them. The roar of an engine grows louder as Ada rolls out from the darkness on a sleek black motorcycle, coming slowly up the centre of the lot. As she passes them, she stops, leaning on one leg.

"And Leon," Ada calls out over the growl of her motorcycle. Leon and Helena turn to face her.

"Be careful… It would be a shame to lose such a pretty face"

She revs the engine again, and speeds off into the streets of Detroit.


	3. Chapter 3: Shen Manor

**Disclaimer: Resident Evil, it's characters and all other copyrighted terms belong to Capcom and its respective owners.**

**Should I Continue?: This is the third chapter, and should give you a good feel for the story. A lot of people are reading it, but I'm not getting a lot of feedback. Do you like the story? I also have an idea for an FF story, so if people don't care for this one, I may put it on the backburner for a while. If you like the story, PLEASE LET ME KNOW! You can fav, follow, review, or just send me a private message. Let me know if I should continue with this or start with something else.**

******Note on Chapter Three: Now, the story really kicks into gear. The action and horror elements finally comes into play. Warning: There will be some VERY ADULT THEMES!**

******Please Fav, Follow, and Review... But most of all, ENJOY!**

* * *

**Chapter Three: Shen Manor**

Outside Detroit, MI (12/26/1998)

A black sedan races down a long black highway. Its headlights shining over the snowy street, it races between leafless trees, in the middle of a deep Michigan forest. A hill rises upwards in the distance. The silhouette of a huge mansion is visible against the star-spattered night's sky, a full moon ducking behind the building. The night's air is charged with an indescribable energy. Inside the car, Helena and Leon sit quietly, watching the street ahead of them. They have been on the road for nearly an hour, and now they've reached their destination. A pathway leads off into the woods. Leon turns right, heading down the dirt path. They have yet to see a zombie since they've left Detroit. Blanketed in darkness, the pale moonlight shines in over the couple, as Helena turns to her partner.

"Remind me again," Helena says with a yawn, "Why are we going to this mansion?"

The pathway narrows, and tall trees loom overhead, their crooked limbs forming a net over them. The bright stars visible through the jagged patterns, Leon fixes his eyes on the road ahead.

"Umbrella frequently uses their estates as a cover," he says, "by building laboratories beneath them, they can keep them guarded from inspection an public scrutiny… STARS investigators found an Umbrella lab beneath the Spencer Mansion. It's possible that there may also be one beneath Shen Manor."

The dirt road turns upward, descending deeper into the Michigan forest. An owl flies overhead. Leon and Helena watch it as it passes, disappearing among the trees. Its foreboding presence seems to carry an ominous symbolism. The road climbs onward.

After a long upward climb the car pulls up to a large stone wall. In the middle, a large, arched, wrought-iron gate. Over the arch gothic lettering, reading: _Shen Manor. _The mangled gates are open, but a broken down car blocks the entrance. Its front end smashed, five zombies stand around it listlessly. Helena looks over the scene. _The gates are smashed and warped, along with the front end of the car. Somebody tried to race out from Shen Manor, but hit the gates and fell victim to the outbreak._ Leon turns to Helena.

"We're going to have to walk from here," he says, "You've got a gun… Do you know how to use it?"

"I'm an investigator, not a beat cop, but a zombie is easier to kill than a person."

The car slows to a stop. The zombies turn from the broken down car and meander towards the new arrivals. Hurriedly, Helena opens the gym bag at her feet. It's filled with ammunition. Three regular magazines, fifteen bullets each, resting inside black leather pouches, and two extended magazines with thirty rounds each. The cache of ammunition was provided for her by the CIA for her venture into Detroit. She grabs one magazine and clips it to her belt, zipping up the gym bag once more. Leon and Helena step out from the car, closing the doors as their boots sink into the icy mud. Helena throws the strap of her bag over her shoulder, crossing her chest from her left shoulder to her right hip. They pull their guns from their holsters, stepping cautiously towards the group of zombies ahead of them. Leon coming up the left, Helena up the right, the groups of zombies meander slowly towards them, groaning mindlessly. Taking a shooter's stance, they shuffle towards their targets.

With pale, shrivelled skin, and glazed eyes, one of the monsters closes in on Helena. It draws its lips back over bloodied teeth and and groans as it raises its arms towards her. Crouching slightly, She raises her gun and aims patiently. Firing to quick shots, the right side of her targets explodes outwards, brain matter, bone, and blood spurting out as it falls limply to the ground. She steps over it as a shot rings out from Leon's gun, downing another. A female zombie, the flesh torn from its jaw exposing its lower teeth, hisses at Helena, blood gurgling in its throat. Another shot rings out on Leon's side. Helena fires at the woman, its eye exploding in a torrent of blood, but it keeps advancing. She squeezes the trigger again. Click. _I'm empty._ The zombie lurches forward, clutching her shoulders. Helena raises her hands pushing back on it defensively as it draws her in, its mangled jaw opening wide to bite her. It pulls her in with surprising strength. Helena groans, pushing back as hard as she can manage. Wrestling herself loose, she shoves it backwards. It falls to the ground with a grunt. Leon steps hurriedly towards the downed zombie, and bends over it, firing a shot into its skull. The fifth zombie drags its feet through the mud, a disconnected moan emanated from it as it staggers. Leon walks up to it, pressing his gun to its head and casually firing. It falls silent and drops to the ground.

"Thanks," Helena says panting.

"You have to know how many bullets you have at _all time_," Leon chastises, "You slip up like that again and you'll wind up dead."

Helena looks back at him with a surprised expression, a little offended by his condescension. She ejects the empty magazine from her gun, watching him walk ahead. Grabbing a clip from her bag, she slides it in with a heavy metallic click, watching her partner as he goes. Leon and Helena slip past the broken down car, heading up a long, open pathway to the mansion ahead. A thin layer of snow covers the ground. The wind howls through the trees, blowing their hair around as they walk. The path inclines upwards slightly and the mansion is visible in the distance. Walking silently, side-by-side, they clutch their guns, looking around themselves. Suddenly they stop, hearing the sound of wolves baying in the distance. Leon and Helena exchange a cautious expression, then continue their trek. As they walk onwards they hear another wolf baying, this one off in the opposite direction. Helena inspects the surrounding woods cautiously. _We're out in the wilderness… There could be dozens of these animals surrounding us right now. _They take a few steps forward, then stop abruptly, snapping their heads to the right. There is a rustling among the trees. Peering into the shadows of the trees, they hear growling in the distance. They ready themselves. A doberman comes charging from the woods, galloping towards them with its jaws opened. Helena and Leon open fire on it. The doberman charges through the bullet storm, yelping as a bullet cuts through its body. Two shots rip through its head as it nears Leon. Its body falls limp, rolling near his feet. He looks down on their kill. Skin and muscle are torn from its face and sides, it's skull and ribs partly visible, its eyes have thick white cataracts over them. The dog has been infected with the T-Virus, but now it lies dead.

"Come on," Leon instructs, gesturing with a movement of his head, "There'll be more."

The couple head onward, gradually nearing their destination. But before long, they're attacked again, as a second doberman emerges from the opposite side. It pounces from among the woods then stops a few yard away, drawing back its lips to show its teeth as it growls. It barks then sprints towards them. They raise their guns, opening firing on their attacker. One shot misses, then three rip through the doberman's body. It yelps, falling to its side, its legs and head whip about for a moment as it whines meekly, then falls dead. Leon and Helena break into a jog coming up to the front of the mansion. It's a gorgeous, sprawling white building. A construct of modern architecture, it is made up of large, rectangular sections, with large windows scaling from the ground to near its top. But strong metal shutters are closed over them, an emergency protective measure to keep invaders from getting in. They step towards it, Five wide stairs lead up between two square pillars to a pair of heavy mahogany doors. A rectangular, stone slab sits over the doorway, providing a canopy.

Leon and Helena climb the stairs silently. Leon turns around briefly as he hears a wolf bay in the distance. He turns back to the door. The huge mahogany doors are intricately engraved with images of trees and vines around its edges. A padlock and a numeric keypad are mounted on its surface. Leon retrieves the key he had received from Ada, sliding it into the padlock and turning it with a heavy metallic click. Placing a hand over the beautifully embossed, brass doorknob, he turns it. The door won't open.

"Shit," Leon mumbles, looking over the keypad, "You need a code."

He spins around, looking for some other way into the building. A wolf bays once more as s strong gust pushes past them, blowing their hair over their faces. Leon sighs heavily, cursing under his breath. Helena looks over at him, waiting for some instruction.

"Maybe we can find some other way into the building," he says.

"Let's split up," Helena suggests, "We can cover more ground that way."

"Are you sure you'll be okay?"

"I can take care of myself."

"Alright, we'll meet back here," Leon concludes, pulling his gun from its holster.

They climb back down the stairs, Leon going right from the stairs, Helena left. Trudging over the grass, she crosses the front of the building. Looking around nervously, her eyes snap over to every conspicuous sound: rustling leaves, branches clicking against one another. She grips her gun nervously, drawing in a deep breath. As she nears the corner, she turns back just in time to see Leon disappear around the opposite corner. Helena turns right, heading around the side of the mansion. There is a long sidewalk stretching along the length of the side wall. Four feet across, hedges form a wall on one side, closing in around the walkway like a corridor. Off in the distance she sees a body lying on the floor in a long white coat. She walks on down the walkway hurriedly, her heels clicking on the cold cement. _What are you doing here, Helena? Following some stranger into dangerous territory, some nut on a crusade against Umbrella. You're wandering off course, you need to be investigating the MacNamara terrorist attack… Who is this man, and what do I have to gain from this detour?_ She nears the body on the floor. It is a thin man with short brown hair, a pair of broken glasses lie on the ground beside him. He wears a long lab coat. Stepping over him cautiously, Helena grabs his shoulder and roll the body over. _He's dead._ The man's face is pale, with wide, glazed eyes. There is a bloody bite on one arm. He wears a white dress shirt and red tie with a pair of brown slacks. She grabs an ID clipped to his coat. Immediately, she recognises the symbol printed on it. _Umbrella… I guess there's something to that woman's claim after all._ She searches his coat pockets. The first one is empty. Running her hands through the opposite pocket, she feels a piece of paper, retrieving it. Unfolding it, she reads the note:

_The keypad is based on prime numbers._

_x, x(2), x, x(3), x_

Helena folds the note up, sliding it into her pocket. _The first five prime numbers are 2, 3, 5, 7, and 11… Maybe this is the code for the door._ Helena rises to her feet, then turns from the body re-tracing her steps. As she walks back towards the door she had come from, she hears a rustling behind her. She spins around. A wolf emerges from the bushes, stopping on the sidewalk by the body she had just inspected. The wolf spread its legs in an aggressive posture, growling at her. As Helena pulls her gun out, the wolf shoots forward with incredible speed, its claws clicking on the cement as it runs towards her. Panicking slightly, Helena takes aim rashly, firing a rapid series of shots. Bang, bang, bang, bang, bang, bang! Bullets tear through the wolf's body. I crashes forward, topping over itself, kicking it legs wildly as it howl in pain. One leg twitching, the wolf falls limp and dies. _Damn it! If I keep going through my ammunition like this I'll be caught dead before long._ Groaning, the corpse in the lab coat sits up. _I better get back to the front door._ Breaking into a jog, Helena runs down the walkway, and makes her way around the corner. She runs across the front of the building, then up the stairs to the door. Stopping, she takes a moment to catch her breath.

Helena looks over the keypad. There is an LED display with a green and red light above it. Currently, the red light is lit up. Below the display a ten-digit keypad with an 'enter' button next to the zero. She draws the note from her pocket and looks over it once more. _I'm guessing the numbers in brackets represent multiplication… The first prime number is 2, then 3 time 2 would make 6… then 5. 7 times 3 would be 21, and 11. _Running her fingers over the keypad, Helena types in 2652111, then hits the enter key. The device beeps three times, then the light turns from red to green. _Got it!_ Helena turns the doorknob, pushing the door in slightly. As the door opens, Leon emerges from around the corner his head hanging down.

"Leon!" Helena calls out, "I figured out the passcode."

He looks up at her with a surprised expression. Skipping into a jog, he comes towards her, jumping up the steps to the door.

"How did you figure it out?" he asks.

"I found a note," she says, "The pass code is based around prime numbers… Every second number multiplied by a subsequent prime number… the code is 2652111."

Leon stares back at her with a blank expression.

"Sure," he says, "Point is, you got the door open."

Helena pushes the door wide open. Gesture with her hand she invites Leon into the mansion, bowing her head with a self-satisfied smile.

"After you," she says.

.

.

Detroit, MI (12/26/1998)

Ada Wong stands in an elevator, her back reflected on a mirror opposite the doors. The sides of the elevator are made of a shimmering metallic chrome. The elevator slowing to a stop, Ada sighs and places her hands on her hips. The doors stutter, then slide open and a gust of wind hits her, blowing her hair around wildly. Stepping out of the elevator, her heels hit black asphalt. She stands atop a building, high above the city. The lights of surrounding buildings shine in an endless sea around her, and a full moon hangs over Detroit, a few stray clouds hang around it. In the middle of the rooftop, an unmarked black helicopter waits, with its main rotor spinning. Ada looks around as she approaches, looking over the city. As she steps to the skids of the helicopter, its side door slides open. A man dressed in a black suit and tie emerges. Grabbing onto a guardrail by the doors, he extends a hand to Ada. She grabs it, and the man in black pulls her up into the cabin, sliding the door closed behind them. She walks to the far end of the cabin, taking a seat as the pilot turns to look at her. Ada pulls the straps over her shoulders and buckles them as the man in black does the same. He turns to her.

"Did you complete your task," he asks. Ada nods.

"Leon is on his way to Shen Manor," Ada replies, "Everything went according to plan."

"Good," he states flatly, "Pilot. To Washington, DC."

The pilot nods, and slowly the black helicopter rises from the rooftop. It turns in place, then takes off, heading Eastward. High over the city of Detroit.

.

.

Helena closes the door behind her as the pair find themselves in a huge foyer. With a high ceiling and marble tiles along the floor, this luxuriant foyer. It's a multi-million dollar home, by the look of it, Helena looks around it admiringly. In the centre of the room a twelve foot statue stands. Made from marble, it represents a robed man, with on arm raised to his forehead in a woeful expression. On either side of the statue, a staircase extends upwards, leading to a pair of doors on the landing above. Helena turns to a small table near the door, then steps over it, inspecting it. A layer of dust covers the table, but four streaks across its surface expose its veneer.

"Leon," she says with a curious expression. He steps over, stopping at her side.

"What is it?" he asks.

"The table is covered in dust… But look at these fingerprints… They must have been made in the last 24 hours."

"You think some else is in here?"

"It looks that way."

"Then we need to be cautious."

Turning from the table they walk forward. The sound of their heels echoe around the marble foyer. Coming to the base of the statue, they stop, looking over it. Helena reads the small engraved plaque at its base: _DAMOCLES._ Below it, an inscription: _Metus Est Plenus Tyrannis._ She turns her head up to look at the statue once more. Damocles has a terrified, woe-begotten expression on his face. The statue was carven with expert precision. Helena, an appreciator of high art and a student of mythology, finds herself moved by this exquisite interpretation of Greek legend. As she analyses it admiringly, she whispers to Leon.

"Damocles…" Helena starts, "According to Greek legend, he told the king that he was fortunate to live in such a high position of power. To teach him a lesson, the king let Damocles sit in his throne, but hung a sword over his head by a threat. Of course, Damocles gave up the throne. The moral being that a man of such power lives with danger looming over his head at all times. The latin inscription reads: _Metus Est Plenus Tyrannis. _Which translates as, 'a tyrant's fear is complete fear'."

"What's this at the base?" Leon asks.

Looking down, Helena sees a three-inch wide slot as the feet of Damocles.

"I don't know," Helena replies.

Leon turns around on his heels, looking for their next destination. He sees two doors on the bottom floor. One is on the far left side, the other right. Exhaling, Leon turns to Helena

"We better check the bottom floor first," he says, "It's been a long day, we need to rest."

He leads Helena over to the door on the left side of the room, then stops before it. Placing his hand on the knob, Leon readies his gun the opens the door. They step inside narrow hallway. A dim light shining from a wall in the middle of the room, a faded orange glow swells through the hall. As they step inside, they hear a mindless groan as a shadowed figure in the distance staggers towards them with surprising speed. Leon walks towards it, aiming his gun as he advances. The zombie's head bobs as it attacks, stumbling awkwardly, its feet thumping on the hardwood floor. With a deafening pop, Leon fires at its head, blowing a chunk of its skull off. The zombie moans, falling forward on its chest. But it's far from dead, and crawls across the floor at Leon's feet. He kneels down and aims again. Another gunshot and the zombie's head is blown wide open. Its mutilated brain exposed, blood pours out from its mouth and nose, pooling on the floor. With a black jacket and white gloves, his role is easily identified.

"It's the butler," Leon says turning to Helena, as he walks backwards down the hall, "poor bastard probably spent his whole life waiting hand-and-foot on some rich assholes… Only to end up like this."

Turning back around, they make it to the end of the hallway. He opens the door at the end into the next room. It's a large dining room. Shining chrome appliances line the opposite wall, and, in the middle of the room, a long mahogany table. As they step into the room, they see two zombies, one female, one male. They don't hear the two step into the room, so Leon turns to Helena, putting a finger to his lips to indicate that they need to stay silent. They crouch low and walk quietly towards their targets, as though they had choreographed the attack. Leon walks up the near side of the table to the male zombie. Helena cuts around the opposite side, closing in on the female. Looking over at his target cautiously, Leon quietly picks up a shining silver knife off the dinner table as Helena stops before her zombie extending her arm out. Leon draws the knife upward in a stabbing motion. He grunts, driving the knife forcefully down into its skull with a wet crack. The female groans as it turns towards the noise, but finds Helena's gun pointing at her face. She pulls the trigger. A sharp bang, and the zombie falls backwards to the floor with a heavy thud, a pool of blood forming beneath its head. Helena puts her gun back in her holster.

"We make a good team," she says with a grin.

Leon looks over at her for a moment, then nods his head. He turns around looking through the dining room.

"There's nothing here," he says, "let's go back."

"Wait," Helena interjects, "there should be another door here."

"What do you mean?"

"We came up the hall… about fifteen feet or so. There should be another room between here and the foyer."

"You're right," Leon says, looking over the wall, "Let's check the other door."

Leon and Helena come to a door on the other side of the dining room, leading back to the foyer. Pushing it open, they step into another darkened hallway. Looking over the wall, they walk onward, eventually coming to a second door. Opening it, they come back into the foyer. Leon analyses the wall behind the statue.

"There is a huge space back there that you can't get to," Leon says.

"Then there must be a hidden room," Helena replies, "I found a body outside. Ada was right, he had an Umbrella logo on his jacket… There may be a lab here after all."

"Come on," Leon says, gesturing with his head.

Leon and Helena climb the tall staircase to the upper landing, their shoes making muted sounds on the carpeting. As they reach the top, Leon steps to the leftmost door and opens it. A long hall stretches before them. At the opposite end, the moonlight shines in through a window. As they make there way down the hall, Helena watches Leon as he check the rooms they pass. _The shutters must not close on the top floor._ Walking onward, they come to an intersection and Leon guides her to the right. Checking the first door on their left, he finds it open.

Stepping into the room, they find themselves in the master bedroom. Moonlight filters in through two screen doors on either side of a large bed leading out to a balcony.. It's a luxuriant room, with wide closets on one side of the room. Tall marble stands hold up vases containing wilted flowers. An upright piano sits opposite a wide bed with a canopy hanging over it. Against the wall by the door there is a vinyl record player, and a shelf filled with records. Leon locks the door to the room, then grabs a small wooden chair from the corner and jams it beneath the knob.

"What are you doing?" Helena asks quizzically.

"We better sleep here tonight," Leon responds as he fixes the chair in place.

"What… you mean _together_?"

Turning to face Helena he looks at her casually.

"Yeah," he says with a shrug, "There are zombies and who knows what else. There may be someone else in the house as well. It'd be unnecessarily dangerous to sleep in separate rooms."

"A likely story," replies Helena with a skeptical grin.

"We're both adults," Leon says, smiling for the first time, "We'll sleep on opposite sides of the bed… I don't see the problem."

"Fine," replies Helena, "But if I feel your hands on my body while I sleep, I'll break your arm."

Leon throws his hands up to surrender.

"Fine," he says with a grin, "I'll keep my hands to myself."

Helena walks to the far side of the bed. Sitting down, she pulls off her grey vest as they get ready to go to sleep.

.

.

Washington, DC (12/26/1998)

A man sits at a small round table in the middle of a large, dimly lit room. In the centre of the table a short candle burns, the wax pouring down onto the tablecloth near its end. Sipping the last of his wine, he sets the glass down on the table, leaning forward on the table with his arms folded. A man in his forties, his short brown hair is combed back, a stray lock hanging over his forehead. Raising a hand to his chin, he strokes his goatee. With pale blue eyes and angular features, he has a distinguished, cunning look to face. He wears an expensive grey suit with a black tie tucked inside a back vest. As he sits impatiently, looking over at the door, it opens and woman steps into the room. He sits upright and smiles to greet his visitor.

"Ada Wong," he says.

"Simmons," she replies with a grin.

She walks over to the table, her heels tapping on the black tiled floor. Swinging her hips provocatively she walks to the chair on the opposite side of the table, taking a seat and crossing her legs. Simmons looks over her with a lascivious expression.

"I trust you've completed your task in Detroit," he says. Ada grins.

"Of course," she replies, "As we speak, Leon is at Shen Manor scouring for evidence to implicate Umbrella in the MacNamara incident. I made sure to casually mention that there may be a vaccine somewhere in the underground lab… Knowing Leon, he'll be unable to resist his more noble instincts. I suspect he'll contact me by the time he finds the vaccine."

"Good work, Ms. Wong," Simmons says, "Did you tell him about the possible existence of the so-called 'Proto-Tyrant'?"

"I didn't say anything about it."

Their conversation is interrupted as an adjacent door opens. They turn their heads to look to the door. A beautiful Japanese woman emerges from the darkness. With long, black hair, she wears a white dress shirt and a short black skirt. Her long legs cross each other as she walks across the room, her black high heels tapping on the floor as she approaches. Holding a wine bottle in her hand, she steps up to Simmons, who looks over her with a lustful expression. Red wine pours out from the bottle into Simmons' glass.

"Thank you, Akemi," he says with a smile.

"Hey, sweetheart," Ada interjects, holding her wine glass up with a patronising smile, "top me off."

The Japanese woman steps over to Ada and fills her glass.

"Thanks, honey," she adds with a wink.

The woman bows her head slightly, then turns from them, making her way back from where she come. Simmons looks over her as she walks away. The servant steps through the door, closing it behind her. Turning back to Ada, he looks down at his glass for a moment, then looks up at her.

"Our plans have hit a minor snag," he says.

"How so?" Ada asks, sipping her wine.

"It appears that our agents have failed to dispose of Ms. Harper," Simmons says with a sigh, "They managed to retrieve her research, though."

Ada takes another sip of her wine, then sets her glass down. Folding her arms, she leans forward on the table, smiling at Simmons coyly.

"What?" Simmons asks with a perplexed smile.

"Why do you want to 'dispose' of Agent Harper?" Ada asks with a curious expression.

Simmons narrows his eyes suspiciously. Looking into her eyes searchingly, a sly smile comes across his face.

"You ask too many questions, Ada… If it weren't for your record, and a certain _fondness_ I have for you, I wouldn't tolerate your inquiries… Helena Harper is an enemy of the state. She's guilty of treason."

Sensing that she's pushed her luck as far as it can go, Ada drops the subject. His ambiguous answer all but confirming her suspicions. Taking up her glass, she takes another sip.

"It pains me that we had to be separated on Christmas," Simmons say rising from the table, his wine glass in hand, "I have a present for you, but first I want my present."

Ada Wong, rises from her seat with her wine glass. The pair walk together from the room, exiting out the adjacent door. Heading down the hall, they make their way up a flight of stairs, coming to a room above. Retrieving a card from his pocket, Simmons slides it through a slot on the door, then pushes it open. They walk into a large, private suite. An extravagant room, a king-sized bed is situated in the middle of the room. Vases filled with flowers surround the room. Simmons walks over to the bed, setting his wine glass down on the bedside table. Ada takes a seat on the bed as Simmons walks over to CD player by the wall. His back turned to her, then grabs a CD off the shelf.

"It's been far too long since we've shared a bed," he says, opening the CD case, "I was hoping to make this night special."

Ada reaches into her pocket, retrieving a small plastic vial - one inch in length. Looking over at Simmons cautiously, she pops the top off, gripping it between her thumb and forefinger. She crosses her arms, concealing the vial as Simmons turns to face her.

"Maybe I could put a show on for you," Ada says, smiling at him provocatively. He grins back at her.

"I'd like that."

He turns back around, taking the CD from its case. Pressing a button on the player, a tray slides out. Moving swiftly, Ada holds the vial over his glass, dropping a white powder into his wine. She presses the lid back on with her thumb slides the vial back in her pocket. Pressing a button on the player, the CD slides in. Simmons presses play, then walks back over to the bed. Ada rises, walking past him as they switch places. A few soft piano chords are played, followed bu the rhythmic ring of the drummer's cymbal as a sultry jazz song begins to play. Ada Wong, a woman raised in cultured home, recognises the piece immediately. _Miles Davis. _Standing by the window, with the moonlight washing over her body, Ada locks eyes with Simmons as she slowly unbuttons her scarlet top. Undoing all its buttons, she slides her shirt from her shoulders and drops it to the floor. Keeping her long, black gloves on, she reaches around her back, unhooking her black lace bra. She slides it over her shoulders dropping it atop her shirt. Running her gloves over her sumptuous breast then down over her midsection, Ada bends over at the waist, unzipping her long boots slowly. She pulls her foot from it, setting the tall boot aside, then removes her other boot. Standing upright, she unbuttons and unzips her her pants, shimmying as she pulls her tight pants down. Simmons watches her eagerly as he drinks his wine.

"An Asian beauty, and Miles Davis," he says looking over Ada, "how could I ask for more?"

Ada drops her pants on the floor, then turns around. Bending over slightly, she sways her hips hypnotically as she pulls her lace panties down, dropping them around her ankles. She draws her feet out, stepping over her panties as she turns back around, walking slowly towards Simmons. She drops to her knees, running her hands over his legs as she parts his legs. He gulps his wine nervously as Ada Wong unzips his pants, looking up at him with a doe-eyed expression.


	4. Chapter 4: The Sword Of Damocles

**Disclaimer: Resident Evil, it's characters and all other copyrighted terms belong to Capcom and its respective owners.**

**Should I Continue?: I'm still debating whether or not to continue this story. The has been some support, but nothing overwhelming. Do you like the story? I also have an idea for an FF story, so if people don't care for this one, I may put it on the backburner for a while. If you like the story, PLEASE LET ME KNOW! You can fav, follow, review, or just send me a private message. Let me know if I should continue with this or start with something else.**

******Note on Chapter Four: This is a short one, expanding on the story.**

******Please Fav, Follow, and Review... But most of all, ENJOY!**

* * *

**Chapter Four: The Sword Of Damocles**

Detroit, MI (12/27/1998)

Helena turns over in bed, blinking her eyes groggily. Yawning, she looks over to the other side of the bed. Leon's gone. A pale grey light shines in through the windows. It's early morning, but light rainclouds cover the sky, obscuring the sun. Stretching her arms she yawns once more. Setting her back up against the headboard, she looks around the room, seeing her partner looking over at her from the end of the bed. He holds a folder open in his hands. Helena pulls the blankets up over her breasts modestly, as Leon glances back at her with an excited expression.

"You're up," he says.

"Mhm,"

"While you were sleeping," Leon starts, "I've been across the hall doing some research. I found a cache of files… This is amazing! Listen to this: November 29, 1998. Yesterday two new researchers entered the lab with forged identification. An Asian woman, identified as Brenda Liu, and a white male identified as Dale Whitestone. Around 6:00pm security was alerted that these two 'researchers' had removed two items from the lab. Security gave chase, catching the male, though the female escaped. The male infiltrator was found with a sample of the 'T-Virus vaccine', while his accomplice had escaped with what was later determined to be a 'T-Virus' sample. We apprehended the suspect from questioning… Within hours we were visited by NSA agents, who took the suspect into custody. We never found out who he really was or what his intentions were."

"Corporate espionage?" Helena asks.

"Could be," Leon replies, flipping the pages in the folder, "But there's more… The file mentions something called, 'The Napoleon Project'. December 3, 1998. The Napoleon Project has proven successful so far. Umbrella procured a so-called 'licker' in the immediate aftermath of its transformation. Laboratory technicians sedated the creature, placing it in a saline chamber. The subject was then injected with the "G-Virus". The results were breathtaking. Growing in size, the subject began to display incredible regenerative properties. Under heavy sedation, the subject was periodically removed from his chamber. Fingers were sawn off, growing back within hours, sometimes minutes. Next, limbs were removed, only to grow back. More fascinating, the subject code-names 'Napoleon' developed a peculiar growth over its left pectoral. The growth resembles a cat's eye, though its purpose - if any - is unclear."

Leon glances up at Helena, who looks back at him with a fascinated expression.

"It goes on… November 31, 1998. The Napoleon Project has been closed down. Early this morning, Pentagon officials visited our laboratory. They stated that the project was to be taken over by senior officials, that Napoleon would be transferred to a facility in Washington, DC. My protestations were ignore…" Leon looks up at Helena, then concludes, "All files are signed by Jinhai Shen."

"So there _are_ government officials involved in Umbrella's bio-weapons program."

"Yeah," Leon says, "But it looks like there is some tension between the two… Some kind of internal bureaucratic struggle."

Pausing, Helen looks down at her lap. She looks back up him. Clearing her throat, she makes a confession.

"There is something I should tell you… which may support your claim"

"What's that?" Leon asks.

"Well, according to his profile, Al-Sayid was supposed to be an Islamic extremist."

"Yeah?"

"Well the MO for Islamists is suicide bombing," she continues," Al-Sayid - and, this is off-the-record - was found under five floors of rubble with a gas mask."

"He was trying to escape," Leon interjects.

"Right… And he wouldn't try to escape if he had expected the building to collapse. It might not mean much, but it gives credence to Ada's 'second bomb theory'."

Stopping to contemplate the evidence for a moment, Leon places a hand on his chin. The faint shadow of stubble covers his unshaven face. He looks back up at Helena.

"Get dressed," he says, "we have a lot of work to do."

.

.

Washington, DC (12/27/1998)

Looking over at Simmons, sleeping next to her on the bed. Ada cautiously slips out from under the blankets. Still naked, she walks over to the corner of the room, grabbing a briefcase which leans against the wall. Grabbing it, she sees four numbered wheels on it. _It's locked… What's the code?_ Ada contemplates it for a moment, then tries Simmons' birth year. _1961_. It doesn't work. Tapping on the briefcase with her forefinger, she wracks her brain, trying to think of anything he may use as a code. An idea sparks. Turning the wheels, she puts in another code: _1974._ She pushes to buttons on the sides of the briefcase. The clips pop open. _My birthday… not wise, Simmons._ Ada grins and opens the briefcase. She flips through a variety of papers in, stopping to read the tab on one manilla folder: _Operation Southwoods. _She removes the folder, opening it in her lap. Her eyes pass over the files as she reads them.

_Briefing: Derek C. Simmons_

_The first stage of Operation Southwoods has been an unhindered success. Although, as with all complicated and ambitious plans, there are loose ends to tie up. The responsibility of eliminating all intelligence threats falls squarely with the Director of Central Intelligence, Robert Haldeman. Management of the 'Napoleon Project' falls within the jurisdiction of Emmanuel Hagel, the Secretary of Defence. Finally, the completion of the secondary phase is assigned to you, Assistant Director Simmons._

_[…]_

_War with the Iranian regime is inevitable, however we face obstruction from the leaders of Russia and China, who insist on their firm alliance. But their leaders assure us that they may be willing to withdraw their support if we fulfil the second half of our agreement. Haste is required, Assistant Director Simmons, our plans cannot move forward without your success. It is my understanding that you have dispatched your best operative for your assignment. You are to inform me of your progress every 24 hours or sooner, as the situation requires._

Ada flinches, whipping her head around as she hears Simmons groaning in the bed next to her. Taking a quick glance over the files once more, she looks at the bottom of the file for a name, but there is nothing. The file just ends with: _Good luck_. Simmons groans again, rolling onto his side. Ada slides the file back into the folder and replaces it, exactly as she had found it. Closing the briefcase and pushing the clips in, she scrambles the wheels. Stepping over quietly, she sets the briefcase back up against the wall. Walking lightly, Ada heads around the bed, to where she had dropped her clothes. Pulling on her panties, she grabs her bra, sliding it on and hooking it hurriedly. Simmons rolls onto his back and his eyes open slightly.

"Ada?" he asks, softly.

"Good morning," she replies as she pulls on her leather pants.

"I had way too much to drink last night," he says massaging his forehead, "I feel like I'm sliding in an out of a coma."

"You shouldn't drink so much," Ada says as she slides her arms inside her scarlet top and begins to button them.

"God," he sighs reminiscently, "you were _amazing_ last night."

"As were you," she replies.

As Simmons lies in bed, rubbing his eyes, Ada sits on its edge. Slowly she slides one foot in the boot, zipping it up the side, then she takes the other and repeats the process. Placing her hands on her knees, she looks over at the semi-conscience man beside her.

"Simmons?" She asks. He props his head up slight, his eyes half-opened, "I have one request."

"What is it?" he mumbles.

"Can you ensure the safety of Leon Kennedy?"

Simmons sighs, dropping his head back.

"You know I can't do that… If he discovers too much, if he's deemed a threat… then he must be killed. Currently, as long as he's concerned with Umbrella, he poses no risk to us."

"This man put his life on the line for me," Ada says as flatly as she can manage, "If I complete my assignment, can you… do _something_?"

"I'll tell you what," Simmons begins, "if you complete your assignment, I'll try to re-classify Kennedy as a 'potential threat' rather than an 'imminent threat'. That won't guarantee his safety, though."

"Thank you," Ada replies.

"Go to the front office," Simmons instructs, "You're going to need some heavy firepower when you return to Shen Manor. They'll have everything you need there."

"Understood."

Ada Wong, turns her back to him, walking to the door. She opens it and steps out, but aås she's about to close the door behind her, Simmons calls out to her.

"And, Ada," he says. She turns to face him, "I don't know what your interests are with respect to Kennedy, and I don't care. But, don't forget where your loyalties lie."

Ada looks back at him for a moment, then nods. Turning back around, she closes the door behind her.

.

.

Detroit, MI (12/27/1998)

Helena walks out from the master bedroom, turning left. When she gets to the end of the hall, it branches off to the right and left. Checking the first door, it opens to a large, luxuriant bathroom. She walks past it, coming to the last room on the right. She opens the door and steps inside. Looking around, she sees that it's full of expensive art and artefacts. A life-sized statue stands in the middle of the room. It depicts a woman in a long gown, she holds a ruby in her hands. The statue is unmarked. Next to her a golden chalice sits atop a marble stand, a pillar carven in a Roman style. Around the wall, a variety of paintings hang. Oil paintings, depicting figures of Greek mythology, they were painted with elite artistry. Walking around the room, Helena admires the artwork. She comes to a stop, looking over at a shining sword mounted on the wall. Looking over it, Helena reads the plaque at its base: _The Sword Of Damocles. _Immediately, her mind jumps to the slot at the base of the statue. She pulls the heavy sword from the wall, walking out of the room. Carrying the sword, Helena walks to the end of the hall, opening the door at the end. Back on the landing above they foyer, she walks down the stairs. She reaches the bottom, and turns to walk over to the statue of Damocles. She stops in front of it, analysing the slot. Grabbing the sword, she sticks the pointed end in. It slides in smoothly, then hits resistance. With a grunt, Helena pushes down on the sword with all her weight. The sword slides in all the way. There is a heavy metallic click, and a secret door behind the statue cracks open. _You're a genius, Helena!_

Rushing back up the stairs, she makes her way to the landing. She opens the door to the rooms of the top floor. She walks down the hall, then, turning left, Helena walks to the first door on the her left. Pushing it open, she steps inside. Leon spins around in a chair at a computer. The room is filled with file cabinets and shelves littered with books. Clearly it is some sort of work or research room. On the screen, a blue status bar indicates that informations is being downloaded. He looks up at Helena with a curious expression.

"I've got the secret room open," Helena exclaims.

"Excellent," Leon replies, "All that info I read for you… I downloaded it to two disks, I'm making your copy now."

"Once you've finished, we need to head into the secret room. I have a feeling it'll lead down to the secret lab."

"There's something you should know," Leon says with a stern expression.  
"What is it?"

"Doing more research, I found files referring to a 'Proto-Tyrant'… I've had to fight one of these Tyrants before. They're extremely dangerous and virtually indestructible. I'm not sure if it will still be there, but if it is, I have no way to endure your safety. Are you sure you want to continue?"

"I'm absolutely sure," Helena responds confidently, "But if we don't find any conclusive leads connecting Umbrella with the terrorist attack, I'll have to get back to Detroit… It's been 48 hours since I've reported to my superiors."

The status bar fills up entirely, and a prompt appears, reading: _Download Completed._ Turning back to the computer, Leon reaches over to the tower below the desk and ejects a small hard disk. Holding it out, he hands it to Helena.

"This copy is yours," he says.

Helena takes the disk, sliding it into her breast pocket. Rising from his chair, Leon sighs. Looking over her for a moment, he makes a proposal.

"Listen," Leon starts, "I know you have orders… I was a cop, I understand. But I need your assistance with this. We're both investigating the same thing. We'll check the lab. If we don't find any leads pertaining to the MacNamara incident, we'll go our separate ways. But I think we're onto something… Regardless of the terrorist attack, at the very least we have strong evidence connecting Umbrella with the T-Virus."

"You've got a deal," Helena says, extending a hand to Leon, "We'll find the secret lab and then we'll investigate this supposed connection between Umbrella and the Detroit incident."

Leon takes her hand, shaking it. Helena brushes her hair from her face.

"I think there is something bigger going on. Something more complex than we can understand."

.

.

Washington, DC (12/27/1998)

Ada Wong walks down a long hallway to a door labeled 'Authorised Personnel Only'. She wears a long black trench coat, hanging just past her hips. A belt holds it closed around her waist. Over her shoulder, a long black sniper rifle hangs from a nylon strap. She guides her bangs from her face as a muffled ringing comes from beneath her coat. She reaches under it, retrieving a black cell phone. She presses the answer button, then holds it up to her ear.

"Ada Wong," she says.

"Ada, it's Leon."

"Hello, Leon."

"We've infiltrated Umbrella's laboratory."

"Excellent," Ada replies, "have you found any information implicating Umbrella in Detroit?"

"Not exactly," Leon says, "We've found a lot of conflicting information… Hopefully we'll find some more solid information once we've searched the lab."

"Keep me prompted."

Ada hangs up the phone and replaces it. Stepping to the door she pushes it open. Her air blows around as she steps out onto a paved lot outside. The black unmarked helicopter sits in its centre, its rotors spinning as it readies for takeoff. To men in military fatigue lift a black motorcycle, while a third pulls it inside. A man dressed in a general's uniform approaches Ada. He holds a large black gun at his side.

"We've procured the weapon you've requested," he says in a deep, gruff voice.

He holds the gun up. It's a huge black gun, resembling a massive revolver. At the end it has a wide barrel with a handle attached to it, then a huge revolving chamber, a shoulder stock clipped on the back end, and finally a second grip with a trigger.

"It's a Russian made RG-6," the general explains, "It's semi-automatic and holds six rounds… Be careful, a grenade launcher like this carries a high risk of friendly fire."

"I'm more than familiar with the RG-6," Ada replies as she takes it in her hands.

Holding the heavy grenade launcher in one hand, she walks past the general and waves it slightly, trying to get a feel for its weight. heading towards the helicopter.

"Agent Wong," he calls to her. Ada turns around, "Good luck."

"I never rely on luck."

Ada turns back around, walking to the skids of the helicopter as a soldier extends a hand to her, pulling her up into its cabin.


	5. Chapter 5: The Proto-Tyrant

**Disclaimer: Resident Evil, it's characters and all other copyrighted terms belong to Capcom and its respective owners.**

**Thanks for your support: There has been a significant outpouring of support over the last few days, so I will prioritise this story, at least until I finish Part One.**

******Note on Chapter Five: The title says it all. This is a longer chapter then the last. Plenty of action and story development**

******Please Fav, Follow, and Review... But most of all, ENJOY!**

* * *

**Chapter Five: The Proto-Tyrant**

Outside Detroit, MI (12/27/1998)

Standing within the hidden room of the ground floor, Leon and Helena turn around analysing their surroundings. The room is filled with computers, though they are all turned off. In the middle of the room there is another door, seeming to lead to a room within this room. Walking over to one of the computers, Leon presses the power button. The power is out in this section of the house. Over the computer, there is a bulletin board, but it's been stripped of all notices. Sighing, he turns around looking for anything which may be of interest. Helena walks over to the wall by the hidden doorway, finding a large yellow button there. She presses it. It buzzes and the secret door closes behind them. Exhaling, she runs her hand through her hair. _The concealed door is opened with a switch at the base of the statue of Damocles, once inside the room it can be closed mechanically… Whatever we find in here, great care was taken to keep it concealed. _The room is barren, noting of interest can be gathered here, Helena walks over to the door in the middle of the room. Trying the knob she finds it locked. Leon steps up to her side, looking over her shoulder.

"It's locked," Helena says.

Leon pushes her aside. Lunging forward, Leon kicks the door with a heavy grunt. The doorknob breaks off as the door flies inwards, smashing against the wall. He looks back at Helena.

"Not anymore."

A short, narrow stairway leads down some fifteen feet to another door. They walk down them, their heels clicking on the concrete stairway. As they reach the bottom, Leon tries the next door, finding it open. Opening it, they step into the next room. It's a sprawling laboratory. The power out, green back up light glow overhead, cast their ominous light over the room. Computers are located at various places throughout this clandestine laboratory, with a myriad of machines, glass enclosures, and work stations. The lab appears to have been cleared out for the most part, although hastily. Clipboards hang from the walls and a variety of papers are scattered across desks. Through the darkness of the dimly lit lab, Leon and Helena squint, struggling to see. Holding their guns at their sides, they explore the laboratory. As her partner makes his own way throughout the room, Helena approaches a large printer by the door. A stack of papers rest in its tray, each page connected in a long chain. She picks up the papers, glancing over them, but the technical jargon is too convoluted to interpret. _It appears to be simple diagnostic tests. _Helena sets the documents down and continues her investigation of the lab.

On the opposite side of the room, Leon finds a clipboard lying on one table. Picking it up, he reads the title: _The Proto-Tyrant._ Leon skims over the document. It appears to be some kind of summary progress report. His finger traces over the report, stopping on one particular passage:

_Update_

_January 3, 1997_

_While displaying incredible strength and dexterity, the 'Tyrant' seems entirely incapable of simple tactical procedures. A test run with automated weapons firing rubber bullets, we found that the Tyrant was easily distracted. It would attack whichever combatant fired last, rarely finishing off its current target. This poses a significant tactical problem, as its enemies could simply draw the Tyrant away from cornered targets indefinitely. The cognitive abilities of the Tyrant are extremely limited. Successive variation on the project will seek to remedy this issue. Furthermore, its exposed heart presents an obvious weakness. In spite of this, the Tyrant is still extremely dangerous, and wounding its heart does not seem to necessarily result in a speedy death. It can continue an assault after significant damage is done to this external organ._

Flipping the page, Leon runs his finger over the document, stopping once more.

_Update_

_March 16, 1997_

_Subsequent variations on the Tyrant have shown significant improvement. These BOW's such as the one located at Spencer are more focused, more intelligent than the 'Proto-Tyrant'. Still, we've preserved the original for long term testing. While originally we were concerned about the potentiality of viral and bacterial infections occurring, the Proto-Tyrant seems to have a long lifespan. Now, some 3 years after its creation, it seems as strong as ever._

Leon flips through several pages hastily. Stopping on the final page, he reads the last entry.

_Update_

_July 3, 1998_

_Work on the 'Proto-Tyrant' has halted. Co-operative laboratories have all but perfected the Tyrant, and our current BOW is now rendered all but irrelevant. We will, however, maintain the current test subject, as we are still curious about its long term longevity. It has been alive for four years, which is encouraging. Shen laboratory will shift its focus over to the 'Napoleon Project', but will periodically make updates on the status of the 'Proto-Tyrant'._

Helena walks across a series of control panels, running her hands over them as she looks for clues. The power is out, it seems, and none of the machinery appears operational. Virtually all physical materials have been taken by whoever cleared out the lab. A few feet ahead, the body of a scientist lies motionless on the ground, blood stains its lab coat. This employee is a black male, with grey hair and a beard. Walking over to it, Helena rolls the body onto its back. The scientist is zombified - his eyes covered with milky cataracts, his skin putrefied, a flap of skin is torn from his cheekbone - but a bullet hole cuts clean through its forehead. Congealed blood runs down its face. Clipped to his lab coat, she finds a card with the Umbrella logo on it. Unclipping it, she turns it over in her hand. A black stripe runs across its back. _A pass card._ Helena slips it into her pocket.

Pacing down an aisle on the opposite side of the laboratory, Leon comes across a glass enclosure. Inside, there is a plastic vial resembling a pill container, with a white lid atop it. Leaning forward, he glances through the glass to read its label. _Vaccine: T-Virus._ Drawing back an arm, Leon smashes the glass with his elbow, reaching in to grab the container. Pulling it out and analysing the container, he sees five smaller vials within it. They contain a translucent purple liquid and are sealed with black rubber at one end.

"Helena," Leon calls out, holding up the container, "I found the vaccine."

Helena nods, stepping over the body at her feet. Crossing the lab, she sees a door at the opposite side. She heads over to it, reading a metallic placard mounted on it: _Authorised Personnel Only._ She tries the door, finding it locked, but next to the door there is a slot for a card. Above it, a pair of lights - red and green - the red one lit. Sliding the pass card through a slot by the door handle, the light turns green. Helena turns the handle and steps into the next room. It's a short corridor leading to another door. As she steps into the corridor, the opposite door opens. An elderly Asian man steps through, looking up at her with a surprised expression.

"Freeze!" Helena commands, as the old man quickly ducks back in the room from which he came, closing the door behind him. She turns back to the lab, shouting to her partner.

"Leon! there's someone else here."

Leon breaks into a sprint, cutting through the lab to the corridor Helena stands in.

"I think it's Shen."

Helena slides her pass card through the next door. As is beeps and the light turns green, Leon steps through with his gun drawn. He turns left and right, clearing the room. Helena follows him in. It's a secondary section to the lab, similar in appearance to the first. A series of desks and table are arranged through the middle of the room. Emergency lights shine over head, casting a red glow over the room. At the far end, two figures stand. Cloaked in shadow, one is tall and bulky, the other short. As the step in the room, the tall figure raises an assault rifle, firing off a cluster of shots. Leon and Helena dive behind a desk, pinning their backs against their cover.

"Federal Agents," Helena calls out, "lower your weapons!"

They wait for a moment, but there is no response. Leon rises from behind his cover, firing off two quick shots, then ducking back as the large figure returns fire. Glass, paper, and shattered wood fly over their heads as the assault rifle rips through the workstation. As he fired, Leon saw two large, cylindrical glass chambers. One is empty, the other contains a massive body. Backlit, the silhouette of the imposing body within looms over his combatants. Jinhai Shen is accompanied by a heavily armed guard, presumably an Umbrella mercenary, fitted with a bullet proof vest and an AR-15.

"Watch your fire!" the Asian man calls back as he ducks behind a desk, "You're going to kill us all!"

"Why did you come back?" Leon shouts from behind his cover.

"I have to destroy this thing!"

"The Tyrant?" Leon asks.

"Yes, I came back to bomb the laboratory," he explains.

"Trying to cover your tracks, Shen?"

"You have no idea what you're dealing with," Shen says, "if this thing gets out who knows how many innocent people will be killed."

Shen speaks fluent English, though with a thick Chinese accent. Throwing his arms over the desk, Leon fires off two shots, followed by a click. One bullet hits Shen's guard in the head splattering blood over the Tyrant's chamber behind him. The guard falls to the ground with a heavy thud. Leon's gunfire leaves to bullet marks in the glass, hairline cracks extending outwards from each. Shen jumps forward from behind his cover, placing his hand over a red button on a control panel next to the chamber. Leon and Helena stand from behind their cover, aiming their guns at Shen. Leon ejects his empty clip, snapping in another.

"If you kill me I'll release the Tyrant," he threatens.

"You're not getting off that easy," Leon growls back, "we don't want you dead. We're taking you into custody so you can face a court of law."

Jinhai Shen narrows his eyes as he inspects his assailants, as though he is trying to validate their claims.

"Who do you work for?" he asks suspiciously, "CIA? NSA?"

"We work for the American people," Leon responds.

Shen laughs derisively.

"You are naive," he says, "You have no idea what you are dealing with."

"Why don't you tell us?" Helena adds, training her gun on Shen.

"We are in middle of something beyond your comprehension," he explains, "A shift in power is occurring and I am on the wrong side… If you are concerned with _justice_ or, as you say, _the American people_, you are wasting your time on me. I am Damocles… My only concern now is evading the sword which hangs overhead."

"What happened in Detroit is Umbrella's doing," Leon accuses.

"We may be responsible for the T-Virus, but we are not in the business of terrorism."

"Then who's business is it?" Leon asks dismissively.

"That's above me… I'm a small player now, a shadow of what I used to be. The old power is out, the new in… But I can tell you this: whoever is responsible for those terrorist attacks wants what Umbrella has. They work through US institutions, CIA, NSA… Are they foreign or domestic? I don't know, but they have agents within powerful US agencies and they are determined to carry out their goals."

"For what purpose?" Helena asks skeptically.

A heavy thud disrupts their conversation. The massive body in the glass chamber has awoken, and presses its hands against its enclosure. The hairline cracks and indentations caused by Leon's gun spread outward, saline spurting out from its cracks. Shen whips his head around, whispering something, an expression of blind terror across his face. The monstrous figure hits the glass again and the chamber explodes, broken glass and saline flowing out onto the laboratory floor. Shen staggers then falls backwards, muttering impotently. The Pro-Tyrant steps out from its enclosure onto the floor and, raising its arms in a display of dominance, lets out a deep, incredible roar. Faint lights from around the lab glow onto the behemoth. It resembles a man of extraordinary size, 8 or 9 feet in height. Its skin is grey, its body muscular. From its chest, a massive heart protrudes, arteries running up from it into the side of its face. The Tyrant's arms are disproportional. One muscular arm resembles that of a human's though the other is longer, ending in foot-long, pointed claws. The whole creatures body is covered in a web of veins, as though it had no skin.

Shen rises to his feet, slipping a little on the saline-covered floor. As he walks backwards from the monster, he stares up at it in awestruck terror. The Tyrant looks down on him. Its lipless teeth seem to grin, and there is a curiously analytical expression on its face. Drawing back its clawed arm, it swings forward, stabbing Shen through the abdomen and raising him up into the air. Its claws protruding through his back, blood pours out over its arm as Shen cries faintly. The Tyrant swings it arm, Shen's body crashing into a desk and collapsing to the floor. This massive creature stares down on its victim with a remorseless expression. With the red emergency lights glowing across its body, the Tyrant seems to be some demonic abomination, devoid of any restraint or compassion. It raises its head slowly, suddenly noticing the other two figures across the room. Without taking his eyes off the Tyrant, Leon yells to Helena.

"Run!"

Breaking into a full sprint, they cross the room, coming to an adjacent door. The monster turns its head as it watches them escape, as though it is sizing up an opponent. Throwing the exit open they race up a flight of stairs to a second door, as they hear their pursuer plowing through its obstacles in the lab behind. They come to an emergency exit. As they open it, stepping through, the Tyrant burst through the door at the bottom of the stairs. They slam the emergency exit behind them. They find themselves in a large paved enclosure, maybe 40 yards squared. A chain-link fence around it, the lot is filled with steel shipping crates. It is mid-afternoon, though the sky is overcast, painted with a sullen grey. Leon slows to a stop, looking around.

"Come on," Helena says breathlessly, "let's get out of here!"

"The Tyrant won't be far behind," Leon responds, "we need to stay and fight."

Leading her to the far side of the lot, they take cover behind a shipping crate. Panting, Leon and Helena take time to collect themselves. Their hearts racing as they anticipate their battle.

"Aim for the head and heart," Leon instructs.

The Tyrant bursts through the door, which flies outwards, hitting the asphalt with a heavy metal clang. It roars, looking around for its victims. Stepping out around their cover Leon and Helena open fire on their assailant. A storm of bullets streak across the lot, hitting the Tyrant in the chest and arms, a few stray shots hitting the concrete wall behind it - blasting chunks of concrete off the wall. It roars again, breaking forward in a sprint. Ducking back behind their cover, Helena ejects her empty magazine, snapping in an extended clip. They run from their cover to the end of the crate. Leon ducks around the next corner as the Tyrant emerges. Helena fires off three shots, one hitting the Tyrant in the heart. Blood sprays out from it, but it only seems to anger the monster. Helena runs past Leon as he readies his gun. Seconds later, the Tyrant comes around the corner. Leon fires off four shots, emptying his clip into its chest. Groaning in pain, its chest is pock marked, some bullets imbedded in its leathery skin. Balling its fist, it swings at him. Leon jumps back but the punch connects, hitting him in the solar plexus. The wind knocked out of him, Leon falls on his back with a grunt.

Helena opens fire once more, trying to draw the monster off her partner. The Tyrant takes her bait and advances on her as she fires off a torrent of bullets. Rolling onto his side and gasping, Leon ejects his magazine and snaps in the next one. Running at her, the monster throws a punch. Helena bends backwards, evading the blow, but falling to her back. Drawing its clawed hand back, it swings again. Helena pulls her legs back, the claws scraping against the floor and leaving four shallow grooves. She springs to her feet. Extending her arm in a desperate last throe, she fires a series of shots into the Tyrant's face. Its teeth shatter and a chunk of skull is blown off its head. Another bullet tears through its jaw ripping it half off. Specks of blood spatter across Helena's face. With a backhand swing it knocks Helena's gun from her hand. Swinging with its clawed hand, it swats her across her midsection. She flies back several yards, her body making a deep metallic boom as it hits a shipping crate. Moaning, Helena falls limply to the floor as the crate reverberates from their collision. Leon rises to his feet, standing on trembling legs.

"Helena!" he yells breathlessly.

He fires shots into the Tyrant's back, leaving a cluster of bloody puncture wounds in it flesh. It turns round to face Leon. Blood runs down the front of its bullet-riddled body, rhythmic geysers of blood spurting from its punctured heart. The creature groans achingly. Its mangled jaw hangs half off its face. A gurgling roar escapes its open throat. The monster begins to stagger towards him. This 'Proto-Tyrant' is less powerful than its successors, but still seemingly indestructible. Leon's legs wobbling beneath him, he continues to shoot at his target, firing 8, then 9 bullets into its chest. It closes in on him as Leon empties his last magazine - a series of dull clicks signalling his doom. The Tyrant draws back its clawed hand, looming over its prey as Leon looks up at it defyingly.

Suddenly, a shot rips through its eye, blood exploding outwards from its head as it roars in agony. Turning in the direction of the shot, Leon sees Ada Wong, kneeling on a shipping crate with a sniper rifle. The Tyrant turns to her, then breaks into a staggering run. Ada fires again, hitting it in the heart. Undeterred, the monster stumbles for a moment, then continues its advance. Rising to her feet, Ada pulls out the grenade launcher from her trench coat which waves in the wind. Gripping it with both hands, she fires at its feet. A grenade hisses through the air as it hits the asphalt. An explosion rocks the courtyard, and the Tyrant is lifted from its feet, landing face down. It groans, then rises to its feet. Muscle has been torn from its legs, its abdomen ripped open. As it stands on its mangled legs, its intestines pour out on the ground. A deep thunk comes from the grenade launcher, as Ada fires a round into its open abdomen. Another explosion. Flesh and blood explode out from the Tyrant as its torn in half, its torso landing on the floor with a heavy thud. A moment passes, and her target lies silent. Looking down on its torso, she lowers her grenade launcher, stepping to the edge of the steel crate. But as she does so, the Tyrant lifts it head and groans, blood pouring from its throat. It begins to crawl towards Ada, dragging a trail of internal organs behind it. Raising the grenade launcher on more time, she fires at its head. The grenade hits the asphalt and explodes, the thunderous blast rocking the courtyard.

The Tyrant ravaged body it blown to pieces. Ada looks down over the gruesome scene. The lot of Shen Manor resembles a war zone. Two smoking craters smoulder from shattered asphalt where her grenades struck the ground. Chunks of muscle are scattered across the ground, smouldering remains lie lifeless. The Tyrant's legs, arms, and unidentifiable pieces of flesh and bone are scattered around. Its head is obliterated, chunks of brain lie on the asphalt around her. Streaks and puddles of blood are found throughout the area. Dozens of shell casing glitter in the pale light of the sun.

Regaining his composure, Leon turns from the gruesome scene to see Helena lying lifelessly on the ground. Staggering, he runs to her body, dropping to his knees as he reaches her. Four, blood-stained slashes cut across her shirt. Leon presses two fingers to her neck, checking for a pulse. _She's alive._ Leon pulls up her shirt, seeing four thin, shallow cuts across her midsection. The click of heels grow behind him, as Ada materialises, looking down on the pair silently.

"Looks like I've save your life again," Ada remarks.

"He just grazed her," Leon says breathlessly, ignoring Ada's comment, "We need to administer the vaccine right away."

As Leon retrieves the vaccine vial from his pocket, he hears the click of a cocking gun. Ada stands over him, pointing a handgun at his chest. Leon rises to his feet.

"I need the vaccine, Leon," Ada says.

Leon narrows his eyes as he realises why she's here.

"You used me to get the T-Virus vaccine," he whispers to himself.

"I'm afraid so… Some very powerful people want that vaccine."

"Who?" Leon interrogates. Ada shrugs.

"China… Russia."

"So you work for foreign governments," Leon accuses.

"No."

"Who _do_ you work for?"

"Very dangerous, very determined people."

"Give me names!" Leon commands, losing his composure.

"I'm not at liberty to disclose that."

"Damn it, Ada!"

Leon run a hand over his face, gritting his teeth at Ada Wong. _How could I be so stupid? I should have seen this coming. _Taking in a deep breath, Leon tries to regain his composure.

"What do they want?" he interrogates.

"What people in power always want… _More power…_" Ada grins, "There is a war coming, Leon, and this vaccine is a necessary part of that puzzle."

"So this is how you live your life, Ada," Leon growls with disdain, "As an enabler of war… A servant of power."

"The war is going to happen whether I like it or not, but this vaccine will minimise the size of that war. The way I see it, I'm serving the public good."

"Bullshit!" Leon barks back.

Ada draws in a deep breath, then sighs. She looks over at him with an affectionate, sympathetic expression.

"I admire you nobility," Ada says softly, "I wish I was more like you… But you're so naive, Leon. You have no idea how politics works. There are two courses in geo-politics: bad and worse. I work for the lesser of two evils. And if I wasn't here. If someone were to _kill me_. I would simply be replaced by someone else."

"Why do you have to be a part of this?" Leon asks, shaking his head in disbelief.

"Once your in, you can never get out."

"So you're protecting yourself!"

"And you, Leon," she adds, cautioning him, "You're on their radar… I'm trying to protect you. You seem determined to seek the truth… To pursue justice. It's quaint, but I help you when I can. I'm moved by your purity… I can only protect you for so long. If you get in my way, if you get in _our_ way. You'll have to be removed. What I'm doing is for the best… For me, for you, and for the people of the world. Now, hand over the vaccine."

Leon clenches his teeth, staring Ada down as he grips the vial.

"No," he responds firmly.

"I have no intention of letting this woman die," Ada says, "Give me the vaccine, and I'll take what I need and leave the rest for your partner."

"Why should I trust you?"

"You have no choice," Ada replies, tilting her head to the side with a sympathetic smile.

Leon looks at the vial in his hand. Then shakes his head in objection.

"I'm not going to give you what you want."

"I don't want to have to kill you, Leon," Ada warns.

"You won't shoot me."

There is a sharp pop, as Ada shoots Leon in the middle of his chest. Clasping a hand to his chest, Leon falls backwards, hitting his head on the pavement with a heavy thud. Trying to roll over on his side he falls back and loses consciousness. Smoke rises from the barrel of Ada's gun as she lowers it to her side, looking down on him with a guilt-stricken expression. She walks over to him slowly. Kneeling at his fallen body, Ada kisses him on the cheek, one handing brushing back his hair gently. She pulls the vaccine from his open hand then rises to her feet, looking down on her fallen victim.

"I'm sorry, Leon."


	6. Chapter 6: Necessary Illusions

**Disclaimer: Resident Evil, it's characters and all other copyrighted terms belong to Capcom and its respective owners.**

**********Note on Chapter Six: This chapter ends Part One. This may seem like a boring chapter, but there is a lot of story development in this part. The action and horror will ramp up as the story progresses.**

******Please Fav, Follow, and Review... But most of all, ENJOY!**

* * *

**Chapter Six: Necessary Illusions**

Detroit, MI (12/27/1998)

Leon feels a hand on his shoulder shaking him. He feels a throbbing pain in his chest and in the back of his head. Leon groans. Opening his eyes he sees a blurred female figure hunched over him. Looking up at the sky, he sees the sun shining dimly through the grey clouds overhead. A cold winter breeze blow over him. Blinking a few times, he tries to focus.

"Leon," the female voice calls to him.

He blinks again and his focus slowly returns. Helena is over top of him, her skin is a pale white and there are dark circles around her eyes. The T-Virus is taking affect. Leon opens his mouth and sighs, struggling to speak.

"Ada," he mumbles, "she shot me."

Helena holds a black casing up between two fingers, smiling down at him with a sympathetic expression.

"Rubber bullets," she says.

"She took the vaccine."

"Not exactly," Helena replies.

She drops the bullet and reaches into her pocket, retrieving two small, purple vials.

"She left two samples in your hand."

Leon sits up, rubbing the back of his head with one hand. The world around him is spinning slightly, but slowly it steadies. He looks around, seeing the pieces of the Tyrant scattered across the paved lot. He looks over at Helena. The affects of the T-Virus are visible, though it will take a few more hours for zombification to take effect. He grabs Helena's shoulder and groans once more.

"We need to find a syringe," he says, "quickly."

.

.

Several Hours Later…

Washington, DC (12/27/1998)

Simmons guides Ada Wong through a long hallway. Ada wears a black suit jacket and skirt, with a white dress shirt. Her heels glide over the carpeting as she passes under the florescent lighting. As they approach a door, Simmons leans towards Ada.

"Now, you're going to meet our group," he says, "just keep your head down and let me do the talking."

Ada nods as they reach the door. Sliding a pass card through a slot by the door, Simmons opens it and they step into a darkened room. Ada's heels click on the tiled floor as they reach a long table in the middle of the room. Two lamps hang over the table, shining over a variety of old white men seated there, who watch them as they approach. In front of each seat there sits a glass of water. Near the end of one table, there are two open seats. Pulling them out, Ada and Simmons pull out their chairs and sit down, pulling them in.

"I'm sorry if we are late, gentleman," Simmons states apologetically, looking around the table, "but I have some very good news."

A man seated at the end of table looks up at him. He wears a military uniform, with a series of badges and medals decorating his jacket. He looks like a general, with a head of white hair and a stern face. His pale blue eyes scan over Ada as she looks back at him.

"I see we have somebody new joining us," he says.

"Yes," Simmons replies, "this is Agent Ada Wong."

"A pleasure to meet you, Ms. Wong," the man says. Ada nods back, "Since we have a new inductee, perhaps we should all acquaint ourselves… I'm General Robert Haldeman, Director of the Central Intelligence Agency."

He gestures to the next man around the table. He's also a highly decorated General in a military uniform. His hear is grey and he wears a goatee. He looks over at Ada with a solemn expression.

"To my right, NSA Director, General Michael Alexander… Next to him, Special Agent William Holder and FBI Assistant Director Paul Emmerich. At the opposite end of the table, Secretary of Defence, Emmanuel Hagel. To your right, CIA Assistant Director Henry S. Rumsfeld. And, finally, to your left, the Assistant Director, Derek Simmons. I'm sure I speak for everyone when I say welcome."

"It's a pleasure to be in the presence of such distinguished company," Ada says, her arms folded over her lap.

"Well," Haldeman says with a sigh, "We'll start with you, Assistant Director… You say you come bearing good news?"

"In fact, I do," Simmons says, clearing his throat, "A month ago, we sent two agents to infiltrate Umbrella, in pursuit of the T-Virus and its vaccine. Ada Wong successfully procured the virus, but her partner failed to escape with its vaccine… I'm proud to say that today, Agent Wong was sent back to Shen laboratories and retrieved the vaccine."

Reaching into his pocket, Simmons pulls out three small, purple glass vials, setting them down on the table and looking up at Haldeman.

"Excellent work, Agent Wong," Haldeman says, "You're service has been indispensable."

"It's my honour," Ada replies.

"Due to her exceptional work," Simmons states, "I'm proud to announce that, as of today, I'm promoting Agent Wong to a directorial position. I recommend her inclusion into _the family. _Of course, she will continue with operational activities, but she has proven more than capable in the spheres of tactics and intelligence."

"Thank you, Assistant Director," Ada says.

"Well," Haldeman starts, "with the T-Virus and its vaccine in our possession, our plans can move forward… Has Agent Wong been briefed on 'Operation Southwoods'?"

"Uh, no," Simmons states, "due to her recent inclusion, I don't think it would be appropriate… I'd recommend practicing discretion with regards to the operation at this time."

"Fair enough," Haldeman continues, "Where do we stand with respect to Iran… Where's public opinion?"

The CIA Assistant Director, Henry Rumsfeld, clears his throat. Wearing a black suit and tie, his short grey hair is combed over to one side. He wears a pair of glasses and has narrow, suspicious looking eyes. He leans forward to speak.

"In light of the terrorist attack in Detroit," Rumsfeld answers, "the public is not only _supportive_ of the war, but _demanding_ the war… The polls are incredible: 74% of Americans would support an invasion of Iran - if it were declared today. I think it would be wise to move forward as soon as possible."

"This is good news," Haldeman says, "What is the expected international fallout?"

Another man in a nondescript black suit leans forward to speak. It is Secretary of Defence, Emmanuel Hagel. His short brown hair has a spot of grey at its edge. His skin is pock-marked and aged.

"Outrage would sweep across the Middle East," Hagel interjects, "A variety of Islamic groups have vowed reciprocation… If the US were to invade Iran, terrorist - and potentially state - reprisal is highly likely. This would provide us with the necessary pretext for a broader war on terrorism. We could go into Iraq, Afghanistan, Yemen… We'd have _carte blanche_ from the American public."

"That sounds like a justification for perpetual war," Ada adds.

The room falls silent. Immediately after Ada's interruption a tense, uneasy feeling grips the individuals attending the meeting. The men seated around the table eye Ada with a suspicious, uncomfortable glare. Simmons clears his throat.

"Uh, Ada," he says, leaning towards her, "it's war that pays your bills… let's not be _sanctimonious_."

"Don't get me wrong," Ada adds, "I'm just trying to get a clear picture of what's going on here. I'm no _bleeding heart_, gentleman. The public is a little too incompetent to grasp these political realities. We're serving the public good, whether people realise it or not. It is the responsibility of the enlightened minority to protect the masses."

The men around the table sit silent for a moment, watching Ada carefully as she speaks. Slowly they turn to look over at Haldeman. He watches Ada with a stern expression. Suddenly, a smirk spreads across his face. He lets out a deep laugh.

"I like this woman," Haldeman says, looking around the table with a grin.

The men around her seem to relax a little, a few of them laughing uneasily. But there is still a guarded look to them. Ada has only just been invited, and it seems as though she has overstepped her bounds.

"Rationalism belongs to the cool observer," Ada adds, sensing an opportunity to make an impression, "But because of the stupidity of the average person, they follow not reason, but faith. This naive faith, requires _necessary illusions_ and _emotionally potent oversimplifications_, which are provided by the myth maker to keep the ordinary person on course."

"Reinhold Niebuhr," Haldeman says, tipping his head to her, "I'm impressed."

"The truth, gentleman," Ada says, looking around the table at her colleagues, "is that war is inevitable, we need to do whatever will make it more… _palatable_ to the general public."

"Well spoken, Agent Wong," Haldeman turns to address the group, "Until we can close the deal with Russia and China our only concern is the potential of leaked intelligence, and the authorisation of the President. Where do we stand in that respect?"

Simmons, who tensed up when Ada's original remarks seemed to cause friction among his associates, finally relaxes when it seems she had smoothed things over with them. He sits back in his chair comfortably. The NSA Director, General Michael Alexander, cuts in at this point. He speaks in a deep, gravelly voice, holding an unlit cigar in one hand. Another highly-decorated General, he is balding, with white hair running around the sides and back of his head.

"Well, our two primary concerns," says Alexander, "are Special Agent Harper and the journalist Emma Goodman. After that we need to be concerned with Secretary of State, Raymond Peterson, the cop - Leon Kennedy, and Jill Valentine."

"With regards to Kennedy," Simmons interjects, "I think at this point he is a waste of resources… He believes that Umbrella is responsible for Detroit."

"If the Assistant Director feels that Kennedy is out of the picture, then we'll put him on the back burner for the time being," Alexander replies.

"I think that would be wise," Simmons concludes, "We'll keep an eye on him until further notice."

"As for the President," Hagel interjects, "he is a naive populist. But he is an inept leader, a product of government nepotism, and will proceed with whatever it is his associates suggest."

Taking a sip from his glass of water, Haldeman sets it down, nodding. He clears his throat.

"If we've tied all the loose ends, we'll wait until we here from the Russians and Chinese before we convene again," Haldeman says as he rises from his chair, "I expect to hear word from the top within the hour. Excellent work today."

.

.

Detroit, MI (12/27/1998)

Leon's black sedan pulls up to the gate of a chain link fence. The sky has cleared slightly, and the later afternoon shine down brightly, but a cool winter breeze blows. Patches of snow are scattered about. It has been an inordinately warm winter, After a brief pause, there is a buzz and the gates slide open. The car pulls in through the gate, stopping in an open lot with a few other cars. The doors of the sedan open and Leon and Helena step out, walking around the car to the front of the building. It is a YMCA, a large brick building, which has been converted into a temporary shelter. Looking up above the doorway, a sign above the door reads: _FEMA Temporary Emergency Shelter._ It is a refugee camp for survivors of the Detroit incident. Walking to the doors, two military guards stand outside, holding AK-47s. Walking to them, Helena holds out her badge.

"I'm CIA Special Agent, Helena Harper," she says, flipping the badge closed and sliding it back in her pocket, "This is my associate, Leon Kennedy. We're here looking for Aeisha Gayle."

"Yes," one guard replies, "Mrs. Gayle is here. Follow me."

The guard leads them inside the building, through the automatic glass doors. They walk into a large gymnasium. All equipment has been cleared out. In its place hundreds of beds have been organised around the building with hundreds of people wandering around the room listlessly. Tables have been set up around the walls with food and coffee machines. Guiding them through the crowd, the military officer looks around the room, trying to find the person of interest. Spotting her, he leads them between the rows of bed, stopping before a woman standing by the far wall. Around her, people stand holding paper cups with coffee and paper plate with food on them.

"This is her," the officer says.

"Thank you," Helena replies.

The military officer turns around and walks back through the beds, returning to his post. They stand before an African-American woman in her forties. Her long, braided hair is tied neatly around the back of her head. She wears a blue suit jacket, with a white dress shirt and a pair of black dress pants. She looks over her visitors with an inquisitive expression.

"Are you Mrs. Aeisha Gayle?" Helena asks.

"Yes," she replies.

"I'm Special Agent Helena Harper," she says, "and this is my associate, Leon Kennedy. We would like to ask you a few questions about the terrorist attack at the Patrick V. MacNamara building."

"I've been interviewed about this countless times," Gayle says with a sigh, "I don't know what else you want me to say."

"I know you've been over this," Helena says, "but we're conducting an investigation into the incident. We'd just like to hear your story."

"Like I've said before," she says, "I was coming back from lunch. As I rounded the corner, I looked up at the building. There was a huge explosion on the top floor. White smoke shot out from the windows. When I turned to run, I heard the building collapse behind me."

"I know that's the statement you gave to the FBI," Helena interjects, "but we feel as though you may have been lead to a _presumed_ conclusion. We'd like to hear your story exactly as you experienced it. Don't worry about trying to interpret your experiences, that's our job. Just tell us what you remember."

"Okay," Gayle says, nodding her head. She takes a deep breath, gathering her thoughts, "I was returning to work with a container of soup. I was going to eat my lunch at my desk. As I came around the corner there was a bang, and clouds of smoke shot out from the top floor of the building - shattering all the windows. I dropped my soup and turned to run. A second later, I heard a deafening explosion - like a clap of thunder - and a shock wave hit me."

"A _shock wave_?" Leon asks.

"For lack of a better word," Gayle corrects, "It hit me from behind with incredible force, pushing me forward several feet. I manage to keep my balance and kept running. Then I heard the roar of the collapsing building behind me."

"So you saw a first explosion," Helena summarises, "_then_ you heard a second explosion, that hit you with a shock wave - as you describe it - and _then_ you heard the building collapse?"

"That's how I remember it," she answers.

"How far were you from the building when you felt this shock wave?" Leon asks.

"Forty… Fifty feet."

"Did you notice any strange activity," Helena asks, "anything suspicious, leading up to the events on the 24th?"

"Well," Gayle replies, "there were some renovations taking place in the basement on the 23rd."

"What's strange about that?" Leon asks.

"Nothing… But we have a private business which has a contract for all renovations. I know them - all the workers - all by name. But the crew which came on the 23rd was totally different. I didn't recognise any of them… And they wheeled in a large, black container. I've already discussed this with the FBI, but as far as I know, nothing came of it."

Helena and Leon exchange a glance. Turning back to Aiesha Gayle, Helena bows her head slightly.

"Thank you for your time, Mrs. Gayle. You've been a real help."

Turning from her, Leon and Helena make their way back to the doors. As they file through the crowd, Helena looks down at the floor, deep in thought.

"None of this adds up," she says to Leon.

"I know," he replies, shaking his head.

Leon pulls his cellphone from his belt. Flipping it open, he dials in a number, putting the cell phone to his ear.

"Who are you calling?" Helena asks.

"I have a friend who has been investigating the history of the T-Virus," Leon says, "I think she may have some answers for us."

"And that is?"

"Her name is Jill Valentine."

.

.

Washington, DC (12/27/1998)

Ada sits in a waiting room. Blue chairs are arranged around the walls, though no one is there but her. Directly across from her, a young woman sits behind a desk typing away at a computer. Above her, the seal of the Central Intelligence Agency is mounted on the wall. The phone rings, and the secretary picks it up. She nods and replies, hanging up the phone. She looks up.

"Agent Wong?" she asks.

"Yes?"

"Assistant Director Simmons is ready to see you."

"Thank you."

Ada rises from her chair, crossing the room to the front desk. Walking around the right side, she comes to a door with a frosted window. Across it, it reads: _Office of the Assistant Director, Derek C. Simmons._ Ada opens the door, walking into the office. It is a neatly organised room, sun shining in through a window off to the side. Files cabinets are lined behind a mahogany desk, a computer situated in its corner. As she closes the door behind her and approaches the desk, Simmons looks up at her with a smile. Over his head, a portrait is hung. It is a handsome man in his forties. His brown wavy hair is slicked back. It is the President of the United States, Robert Kauffman. She steps around the chair. Sitting down, she takes her seat, crossing her legs and setting her elbows on its armrests.

"You made quite an impression today," Simmons says, "Our group feels as though they can trust you… They are considering making you an official member of our organisation. Is this something you would be interested in?"

"Very," Ada replies.

"Good," Simmons sighs, "In order to gain full membership, they want you to carry out to tasks. If successfully completed, you will be granted power beyond your comprehension."

"And what are these 'tasks'?" Ada asks, smoothing out her skirt casually.

"There are two individuals who have been deemed an… _impediment_ to our plans. If something were to happen to them, the path would be cleared for us."

"Consider it done."

"That's what I like to hear," Simmons says with a grin, then changes the subject, "I have some good news."

Ada cocks her head to the side with an inquisitive expression.

"We've contacted Chinese and Russian officials," Simmons starts, "They've vowed to keep their end of the bargain - and they have. Both nations have just announced that they are withdrawing their support for the Iranian regime."

"Things seem to be moving along smoothly," Ada says.

"Indeed," Simmons continues, "Now the responsibility to see this through goes to the man at the top."

"The President?" Ada asks.

"The _real_ President," Simmons corrects, "and now, the only thing left on our side, are your two simple tasks."

Simmons opens a drawer in his desk. Retrieving a small piece of paper from it, he hands it to Ada. She unfolds it and looks over its contents. It contains a name and address. There are no instructions, but Simmons made it entirely clear. She will have to kill this person. Ada reads the name written on it: _Raymond Peterson, Secretary of State._

.

.

Flint, MI (12/27/1998)

The orange light from the setting sun filters in through the window as Leon and Helena enter a sparsely furnished motel room, closing the door behind them. Walking to a table by the door, Helena groans as she sets a heavy gym bag down. Opening it, the bag is filled with ammunition they had bought at local gun stores around the town of Flint. In the middle of the room there is a queen sized bed, with a soft chair next to it. Off to the right, there is a small kitchen area. Helena walks over to a chair at the far end of the room, dropping herself down with a heavy sigh. Leon walks over to a television set across from the foot of the bed. Turning it on, he changes the channel until he comes across the news, then sets the remote control down on top of the TV.

"So," Helena says, "Tell me about Ada Wong."

Leon turns to her with a guarded expression.

"What about her?"

"Who is she? Who does she work for?"

"Ada Wong is something of a question mark," Leon says, "She's a spy of some kind. She used to work in corporate espionage, but now she works with the government at some capacity."

"How do you know her, and why does she help you?"

"She doesn't help anyone but herself… There has to be something in it for her."

"But why didn't she kill you at Shen Manor? And why did she leave the vaccine?"

"I don't know," Leon whispers to himself, shaking his head.

"And how do you know her?"

"We met in Raccoon City, in the aftermath of the outbreak. She was working as a corporate spy. While we were there, Ada was attacked by a BOW, William Birkin, and I thought she had died… I held her in my arms as she bled to death. But apparently she faked her death… Hours later, she through me a rocket launcher, which I used to kill Birkin. After that… she disappeared, and I've only seen her, with you, since then."

Helena rises from the chair, walking over to Leon.

"You have feelings for Ada, don't you?"

Leon turns to watch the television, clearly agitated by her question.

"Ada is a contact to me. Nothing more."

"But she helps you," Helena adds, "she protects you… I've seen the way she looks at you. Like, some helpless child she has to protect. Like a _lover_."

"Ada Wong is my enemy," Leon snaps back defensively, "To me, she's nothing more than a contact."

"Please!" Helena says with a derisive laugh, "I saw you in the lot back in Detroit… That woman has you wrapped around her finger."

Leon spins around to face her with a defensive expression. Grabbing her roughly by the collar of her shirt, he forces Helena up against the wall. He stares deep into her eyes with a threatening expression. She looks back with shock and confusion.

"Nobody has me 'wrapped around their finger'," Leon whispers harshly, "All I need Ada for is information. Don't try to paint me as some lapdog. I don't wait around for her, or anybody else. As soon as this case is over, I'm done with Ada Wong."

"Sorry if I touched a nerve," Helena replies, throwing her hands up in surrender.

Leon's eyes lock on hers. An insecure expression betrays his words. It is obvious that neither of them believes what he's saying. Leon presses his body up against Helena's aggressively, pinning her back against the wall. Pressing his lips to hers, he kisses her aggressively. One hand gripping her collar in a display of dominance, his other arm reaches around her waist, pulling her close with a rough tug. He kisses her again forcefully, though Helena makes no effort to resist, her arms still held up. His hand eases from her collar, and as he kisses her once more his hand slides over her breast. Suddenly, his head snaps over to the television, as he is distracted by the news.

"We interrupt this program for a special message by the President of the United States," an anchor says, as the words 'breaking news' flash across the screen, "We are broadcasting from the White House, where, at any moment, the President is expected to make a major announcement on the Patrick V. MacNamara terrorist attack."

Easing his grip of Helena, Leon walks over to the television. On the screen he sees a podium at the end of a long hall in the White House. Helena steps to his side and they see two men walking down the hallway to the podium. The first man is the President. He wears a black suit and tie. He's an attractive man, in his early forties, with slicked back, wavy brown hair. Two steps behind him, the Vice President. He is an older man, dressed in the same manner as the President. He has sharp, angular features. Balding on top, a ring of white hair runs around his head. His small, pale blue eyes which watch the president as they approach.

"President Robert Kauffman now approaches the podium," the anchor says, "at his side, Vice President Richard Chapin."

They stop at the podium, the Vice President standing over the President's right shoulder. Looking into the camera with a grave expression, he begins his address.

"Good evening," the President says with a solemn tone of voice, "My fellow Americans. In the aftermath of the terrorist attack in Detroit, a expansive investigation has been conducted into the parties responsible. We now have incontrovertible evidence that the leadership of Iran orchestrated the bombing of the Patrick V. MacNamara building, and that they worked through an Al-Qaida operative named, Karim Al-Sayid. Earlier today, Congress voted, by an overwhelming margin, to give the White House the authority to make a formal declaration of war. As of today, December 27, 1998, the United States has done so. As I make this address, the US is officially at war with the nation of Iran. It is our desire, as a peace loving nation, to avoid war at all costs. That is why we are giving the Iranians 72 hours to open all military facilities to US inspection and to surrender all responsible parties. If our demands are not met, the invasion will commence on the evening of December 31st. It is our hope, that the Iranian government will comply with our demands, and peace can be preserved between our nations. Thank you, and God Bless America."

As the president turns from his podium, walking down the long hall of the White House, Helena turns to Leon. The orange light of dusk now seems to shine in with an ominous, foreboding glow.

"Iran will never comply with those demands," she says.

"I guess Ada was right," Leon replies, "there is a war coming."

**End of Part One**


	7. Chapter 7: Jill Valentine

**Disclaimer: Resident Evil, it's characters and all other copyrighted terms belong to Capcom and its respective owners.**

**Note on Part Two: Part two will ramp up the action. If you've been following the story this far, hopefully this part will serve to please.**

**********Note on Chapter Seven: This chapter is the first in Part Two, and will introduce Jill Valentine to the story. It may end up being shorter than the previous Part, but will have a great deal of action. With less then 72 hours until the invasion of Iran, Helena, Leon, and Jill race to uncover the mystery behind the MacNamara incident. Meanwhile, Ada ascends the ranks of her clandestine organisation.**

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**Part Two**

_To: Deputy Assistant Director, Gene Hammond_

_As my investigation progresses, I find myself more and more unsure of the presumed story. As of last night, the President has declared war with the government of Iran. According to the White House, they have found conclusive evidence that Iran was behind the MacNamara incident, but the evidence is questionable at best. Investigating Shen Manor, I have uncovered definite proof that it was a government contractor - the Umbrella Corporation - and not foreign entities who developed the T-Virus. Enclosed are my findings to this affect. I am deeply disturbed by the President's insistence that Iran is culpable. Their connections to Al-Sayid and Al-Qaida are also specious. All available intelligence indicates that there is significant tension between the Iranian government and Al-Qaida. Without any hard evidence of some collaboration, claims to that affect seem highly improbable. Rushing into war has wide reaching implications. An invasion of an Islamic nation will be perceived as an attack on Islam as a whole and could potentially trigger an upsurge in Middle Eastern terrorism._

_Furthermore, my investigation also casts doubt on the theory that Al-Sayid worked alone. The only surviving witness, Aiesha Gayle, has told me that she distinctly heard a second explosion occurring seconds after the initial bomb exploded. It is highly unlikely that Al-Sayid's top floor bomb could have toppled the building, and Gayle reported that an unknown crew had brought in a large container into the basement of the building the day before the terrorist attack. Until more conclusive research can be done into the nature of the buildings collapse, I would refrain from making any definitive judgement on its exact cause - one way or the other. Due to Al-Sayid's long standing connections with the CIA, it would seem irresponsible to discount the possibility that he could have performed this bombing without the aid of Iran - or Al-Qaida. In the interests of impartiality, I have also not discounted the possibility that he may have had co-conspirators within the CIA or other government agencies._

_The truth is, as of today, the MacNamara incident remains shrouded in mystery. The investigation is still in its earliest stages. It is my opinion that declaring war with Iran is not only reckless, but potentially disastrous for US interests. I must state, for the record, that I'm profoundly disturbed by the government's willingness to endanger the lives of tens - if not hundreds - of thousands of people, while an investigation is still in progress. All feasible actions should be taken to postpone the war until further investigation can take place._

_For the time being, I intend to continue my investigation. Expect my next report within 48 hours._

_- Special Agent Helena Harper (12/28/1998)_

**Chapter Seven: Jill Valentine**

3 AM

Washington, DC (12/28/1998)

Ada Wong emerges from a darkened alleyway, stepping below the orange aura of a streetlight. In the dead of night, a cold wind blows, waving the ends of Ada's long black trench coat, waving her long black hair across her face. Snow flakes fall sparsely from the sky, covering the street in a thin blanket. She removes her coat. Opening a trashcan, she drops the coat inside it, then continues walking forward, her hips swaying as she goes. Ada wears a tight, all black body suit. A zipper runs down the middle of her chest to a utility belt around her waist. There are a series of pouches around her belt, with a gun holster on her hip. The black suit covers the entirety of her body, and a pair of leather gloves cover her hands. Walking through the snowy parking lot, her boots glide over asphalt, leaving long tread marks. The long, black boots are flat-heeled, with a series of buckles running up the centre. A small knife is secured in a holster to her right boot. She approaches a tall, luxuriant high rise. As she reaches the bottom, she stops, looking up at the building. Ada reaches for a second gun, resting in a holster strapped around her right thigh. Unbuttoning the holster, she retrieves a hand gun with a thick, rectangular barrel. Assessing the distance to the 14th floor, Ada turns a dial on the side of her gun, then points it up at the building.

She squeezes the trigger, and there is a hollow bang, as a grappling hook fires up into the air - whistling through the air. A thin, black cable trails the metal hook as is arches upwards, over the balcony of the fourteenth floor. It lands on the balcony, zipping backwards as it latches on to the railing overhead. Ada's body shoots upwards as she is pulled up along the the side of the building. As her hairs ripples in the wind she passes floor-after-floor, flying past the ascending balconies. The gun makes a high-pitched zipping noise as it reels in its cable and Ada reaches the fourteenth floor. She grabs the railing, planting her feet between the posts of the balcony's railing. Raising one leg high in the air, she swings it over the rail, drawing her other leg behind it. Ada unclamps the hook, and replaces her grappling gun in its holster. Stepping to a sliding glass door, she crouches, looking through the glass cautiously. All the lights are out. Trying the screen door she finds it locked from the inside. Ada looks around herself. To the right of the balcony, there is a window, partly opened, about ten feet from the balcony. Under the window, there is a narrow ledge, leading along the wall, about ten-inches wide. Sighing, Ada walks to the rail, climbing back over. Holding onto the balcony rail, she steps onto the narrow ledge. Pressing her body up against the wall, she plants her other foot on the ledge. Slowly, Ada sidesteps across the concrete ledge. The edge of her heels hang over the ledge as she slowly walks across it to the window. A strong gust hits Ada. She wobbles back and forth slightly, trying to lean up against the wall. Regaining her balance, she begins shuffling over to the window again slowly. Eventually, Ada comes to the window. Grabbing its ledge, she crouches, looking inside. It's a bedroom. All the lights are out. Placing a hand under the window, she slowly, quietly, raises the window. Drawing up a leg, she slides it through the window frame, straddling it as she ducks inside, then pulling her other leg through, and setting foot in the darkened bedroom.

Ada squints into the darkness, as her eyes adjust. In the bed, she sees two bodies. On the left, a man in his forties or fifties, on the right, a woman ten or fifteen years younger. _Shit, nobody said his wife would be here._ Ada stands in the darkness, trying to think of what to do. She turns back to the window and draws the curtains closed, so the room is almost totally black. Pulling her gun from its holster, Ada reaches into a pouch. She pulls a silencer from it, and quietly screws it onto the end of her gun as she watches over the sleeping couple. She walks around the bed slowly, coming to the opposite side where her target is sleeping. Ada stops by his side, looking down on him. _This is the guy. Raymond Peterson, The Secretary of State._ Raising her gun, she points it between his eyes. She pulls back the hammer. As it clicks, Peterson opens his eyes slightly. Without hesitation, or emotion, Ada pulls the trigger, and a muted pop cuts through the silence.

Jolted from her rest, Peterson's wife shoots upright and gasps. For a fraction of a second, she pauses, then looks over at her intruder with an expression of blind terror. She jumps out of bed, in a night gown, and races towards the bedroom door. Ada gives chase, and as the woman grabs the doorknob, Ada jumps on her back. Peterson's wife screams frantically. Ada grabs the woman's arm with one arm, and tightens her neck between the elbow of her other arm in a choke hold. The woman struggles wildly, trying to shake loose from Ada as she kicks her legs desperately. Ada bend her backwards, tightening the grip around her throat. Still, the woman thrashes about, but Ada keeps control. Slowly, the woman grows weaker, her feet hitting the floor with muted thumps. She gasps for breath, but Ada retains her grip. Finally, the woman's body goes limp, and Ada gently lowers her body to the floor. Setting her down, Ada presses two fingers to the woman's throat. _There's a pulse… She's alive._ Ada slides her gun back in its holster and walks back over to the window. Taking in a deep breath, she sighs, as she steps over the window frame, disappearing into the winter night.

.

.

11 AM

Flint, MI (12/28/1998)

Leon stands in a pair of faded jeans, shirtless. Sighing he runs a hand through his hair, grabbing a series of pouches, containing magazines and clipping them to his belt. He grabs his holster, the gun resting inside and clips it to his hip. He walks over to the motel bed, where a black t-shirt is resting. Leon's chest is lean, but muscular, with sharply defined pecs and abs. He grabs the t-shirt, putting his hand through the sleeves, then pulling the tight shirt over his head. Walking over to the table by the door, he grabs another holster with shoulder straps, sliding it over his arms. In its holster, a large, silver 44 Magnum rests. As Leon sits on the bed, he hears a key in the motel room door. It opens, and Helena steps into the room. Behind her, the snow falls heavily in the motel parking lot.

Helena closes the door. She's changed her clothing. Brown, military style knee-high boots, folded over around the top adorn her legs, their short, flat-heels arching her feet up slightly. Under them, tight, beige cargo pants with pockets on the thighs. She wears a brown, denim vest over a white, short sleeve t-shirt - her toned midsection and the tops of her large breasts exposed. Helena combs her fingers through her hair, guiding it back away from her face - black, fingerless motorcycle gloves on each hand. Nodding at Leon nonchalantly, she walks over to the table by the door, grabbing a gun holster and buckling it around her waist, three magazines clipped to its back - another two clipping on the opposite hip. She grabs another shoulder holster, passing her arms through its loops. A small silver revolver sits in its holster. She reaches into the bag again, and grabs a few boxes of handgun ammunition and shotgun shells, putting them in her vest pockets, the taking a few loose shotgun shells and putting them in her cargo pockets. Finally she pulls out a long, black Remington pump-action shotgun. She grabs shells from the bag and begins loading them into the chamber.

"Looks like you're locked and loaded," Leon says.

Helena turns to look at him for a moment, then nods, turning back around to continue loading her shotgun.

"I wanted to talk to you about yesterday," Helena says.

"Look, I'm sorry," Leon interjects, "I shouldn't have grabbed you."

"That's not what I wanted to talk to you about."

Finishing loading the shotgun, she sets it down, turning to Leon and leaning up against the table. Folding her arms, she opens her mouth to speak, but a knock on the door interrupts her. Leon rises from the bed, walking over to the door. Looking through the peephole, he sees a woman at the door. He opens it.

"Jill," he says.

"Leon," the woman replies with a smile.

Stepping into the room, she hugs him. A thin woman, Jill's chin-length auburn hair is parted on one side, her bangs hanging over the left side of her face. She wears a blue, strapless tank top, and, overtop of it, a black leather gun holster. Beneath a white sweater, tied around her waist, a belt with a variety of pouches and another gun holster are visible. Long, thin legs run down from her short black skirt, ending with tall, dark brown leather boots. Releasing Leon, she turns her wide, blue eyes to Helena, with a hesitant expression. Leon looks over at Helena, then back at Jill.

"Oh, uh, Jill Valentine," Leon says, gesturing to Helena, "This is Special Agent Helena Harper."

"_Special Agent_?" Jill asks.

"She's CIA."

Jill walks over to Helena with an ambiguous expression. She looks into her eyes as though she is trying to assess her character. Nodding in greeting, Jill extends a hand. Helena reciprocates, shaking her hand with a blank expression.

"She can be trusted," Leon says, "you have my word."

"That's good enough for me," Jill replies, looking back at Helena with a slight smile as she releases her grip, dropping her hand to her side.

"So what exactly brings you back to the States?" Leon asks.

"War," Jill replies, "Unfortunately, it's become clear to me over the last six months that this war was coming. While I was in the Sudan, looking into the US bombing of the pharmaceutical warehouse, I met an investigative reporter - Goodman."

"_Emma_ Goodman?" Helena asks.

"You know of her?"

"Of course. Emma Goodman is a very reputable, well-respected reporter."

"Goodman told me," Jill continues, "of a US military installation, codenamed 'The Gladius' located in central Michigan. According to her research, it was a warehouse for BOWs. She had no idea what the term signified, but you and I know all too well."

"Another laboratory?" Leon asks.

"No. Apparently they're barracks… Training, testing facilities for BOWs… But the facility was turned upside down and they were forced to evacuate. What's interesting is that Umbrella had no oversight of the program, it was purely a military operation. The program was overseen by the same man behind the Sudan bombing: Emmanuel Hagel, the Secretary of Defence."

"_Hagel_?" Helena blurts out in disbelief.

Leon and Jill turn to face her. Helena staggers back putting a hand over her mouth. Staring at the floor with wide-eyed horror, her eyes flicker back and forth as though piecing together some puzzle in her mind.

"What is it?" Leon asks. Helena sighs, still staring at the floor.

"I, uh…" she shakes her head, "I've been withholding some information from you. It's classified… but… I can't keep it secret in good conscience. Hagel, and the NSA Director Michael Alexander, met with Al-Sayid right up until a month before the terrorist attack… They had met with him at least six times in the weeks leading up to the attack. He had also met with CIA Director Haldeman twice in December. The truth is, Al-Sayid had CIA clearance right up until the day of the terrorist attack. Our presumption has always been that Al-Sayid was a double agent… But considering the fact that Hagel was in possession of the T-Virus, that he had met with Al-Sayid before the attack… Hagel was warned numerous times by FBI Special Agent Shafer about the threat posed by Al-Sayid, but he had denied all requests for a meeting…"

"And when the bomb went off," Leon adds, "Shafer was killed, and all his research destroyed. No one was left to implicate him in the terrorist attack."

"Except me."

"Well, then we're sure," Jill jumps in, looking back between Leon and Helena, "Hagel _must_ be involved with the MacNamara bombing."

"No," Helena object, changing her mind suddenly, "this is just circumstantial evidence. None of this disproves our internal theory that Al-Sayid was a double agent… Even if it were true, we have no _proof_, just here say."

"Hagel has been a long time proponent of an Iranian invasion," Jill adds, "He has the means, the motive, the capabilities."

"None of that means anything," Helena snaps back, "without _evidence_."

Jill drops her chin to her chest and sighs. Leaning on one leg, she rests a hand on her hip. A moment a silence passes, then she speaks once more. Placing a hand on his chin, Leon looks over at Jill, shaking his head.

"Well, if there is any evidence of Hagel's involvement, we'd find it at the Gladius," Jill says.

"Then let's go," Leon urges.

"The problem is," Jill adds as a warning, "from what I understand, it's extremely dangerous. Whatever happened there, the military was forced to evacuate. I was hoping we wouldn't have to go there, but with the Iranian invasion on the horizon, I'm not sure what options we have left."

"Let's go," Helena says, looking into Jill's eyes with steely determination, "if this war is being waged on false pretexts, we have no choice but to intervene… Even if we have to risk our lives to do so."

The trio stands silently for a moment, then Jill nods back.

"If we want to get into that military base, I'll need to grab somethings from my car… We'll take your car. I'll drive."


	8. Chapter 8: The Gladius

**Disclaimer: Resident Evil, it's characters and all other copyrighted terms belong to Capcom and its respective owners.**

**Silent Hill Fanfiction: I recently added a 'Commentary' to my Silent Hill fic. If you are interested, feel free to check it out.**

**********Note on Chapter Eight: This chapter begins a three chapter section covering the investigation of a secret military base called: 'The Gladius'. In this chapter, Leon, Helena, and Jill break into the abandoned base. There is significant violence and gore in this section, as well as some story development. As they descend deeper into The Gladius, the action will get more and more intense.**

******Please Fav, Follow, and Review... But most of all, ENJOY!**

* * *

**Chapter Eight: The Gladius**

Outside Detroit, MI (12/28/1998)

The black sedan pulls down a wide, paved road, deep inside a Michigan forest. Snow covers the ground. Driving along, there are no other tire tracks, indicating that no one else has been here in the last 48 hours. As they near their destination, the woods open up, revealing the large military facility they were looking for. It looks like a massive warehouse, though it has no markings. It looms some two stories high, with corrugated metal siding, and small windows up on the second floor. Around the building there is a chain link fence, with spirals of barbed wire around the top. In each corner of the fenced-in area, there are tall steel lookout towers, though they are now abandoned. The black sedan slows to a stop at its gates. The gates are closed, chained lock from the outside. A sign hanging on it reads: _Caution: Stay Out, Unlawful Entry Will Result In Criminal Prosecution._ Its engine purring, the car sits just outside the gates in wait.

Inside, Jill Valentine sits behinds the wheel. In the passengers seat, Leon leans to one side, his arm resting against the window. Helena sits in the back, her legs crossed as she leans forward, to analyse their destination.

"Any ideas on how to get in?" Jill asks.

"You could just charge the gates," Leon replies.

"It's your car," Jill replies with a shrug.

Putting the sedan in reverse, she backs off from the gates about ten feet. Stopping, she puts it back in drive. Jill slams on the gas. Tires squealing, the sedan bolts forward, crashing into the gates. As the gates fly inwards, the chain shatters and the doors fly wide open, warped from the impact of the car. Pulling inside, Jill slows to a stop. The mangled gates shaking behind the vehicle. She looks back with a delighted smile. Untying the white sweater from her waist, she puts it on, zipping it up.

"This is the place," she says to her companions as they step from the car, closing the doors behind them.

Leon walks to the front to assess the damage. Long white scratches cover the hood of the car, dents mark its chrome bumpers. Leon sighs, shaking his head.

"There goes my deposit."

Walking over to him, Jill pats him on the shoulder, feigning a compassionate expression. The trio walk over the snow-covered ground to the doors of the warehouse. At its front, two large sliding steel doors stand, a chain and lock around its handles. Grabbing the lock, Leon looks over it then drops it. It clangs heavily against the door. He holds out his arms, indicating for his partners to back up. Grabbing the gun from his hip, he points it down at the lock. A bang echoes through the woods as he fires off a shot, the lock shatters and falls to the snowy ground below. Grabbing the chain, Leon pulls it out from the handles and throws it aside. Gesturing to Helena, he grabs one handle, and she grabs the other, as they slowly slide the heavy iron doors open. With a sigh, they let go and look into the large warehouse.

It doesn't appear to be any sort of military facility. With a dark grey concrete floor, there are wooden crates scattered about. Some crates are stacked in large walls, obscuring the opposite wall, others are placed two or three high in solitary columns. In the far left corner of the room, there is what appears to be a large office. Two iron staircases lead up to a second floor walkway which leads around the second floor. Around the walkway there is a series of small offices. But this otherwise mundane scene is marred by streaks and puddles of blood on the open floor around. They step through the doorway, their heels clicking on the ground, reverberating around the desolate warehouse. Weapons drawn, the trio branch off to look around. Making his way to the far right corner, Leon hears the sound of shuffling feet in the distance. Soon after, a zombie emerges from behind a wall of crates. It wears army fatigues. The zombies face is torn off, the skin hanging from its chin. Congealed blood oozes over the muscles of its face, dripping from its exposed teeth. The monster lets out a gargling hiss. Its misty, glassy eyes seem to lock on him and begins walking faster, extending its arms outwards.

"Zombies," Leon calls out as he approaches his target.

Taking aim, he fires, hitting the zombie in the centre of the forehead. Its restless moans are cut short. With a heavy thud, it falls to the ground. As the shot rings out, two more emerge, also clad in army fatigues. Pacing towards the first, Jill extends an arm, firing a shot into the first one's skull. The bullet blows out the back of its head, blood spraying across the floor. Another follows close behind it. Its right arm is marred with bite marks, large chunks torn loose from it. It groans heavily, advancing on Jill. Walking over to this second monster, she casually fires a shot into its head, the zombie falling to the floor next to the first. She puts her gun back in its holster, then, sliding off her sweater, she ties it around her waist.

"The room is hot," Jill shouts back, "be careful."

Walking past the corpse on the floor, Leon passes a wall of crates. Behind it there is another room, obscured behind the crates. At its front, there are a pair of heavy steel door. A sign over it reads, _Authorised Personnel Only. _Stepping up to it, he analyses them. The sliding doors are sealed shut, fused together. _The doors have been welded shut from the outside._ Leon turns back around, making his way to the middle of room.

Jill comes to the office in the corner of the room. Windows surround it, with blinds inside, pulled closed. Walking over to the door, Jill opens it. As she walks inside the room, a zombie rises from the floor. He's an African-American male in a blood-drenched dress shirt and tie. His right arm has been torn off and lies on the floor beside him. As it moans, it begins to stagger towards Jill. Stepping up to it, she extends her arm, firing a shot into its head. As its head snaps backwards, blood spraying from the bullet hole, its body drops limply to the floor at her feet. Looking around, there is a control panel, with papers and clip boards scattered around. She grabs a clipboard. It is a manifest, with the names of the soldiers stationed at Gladius. Flipping through it, she sees page after page of names. There are something like one hundred people listed there. Most of them are privates, but near the bottom she sees a familiar name: _Secretary of Defence, Emmanuel Hagel._ Setting the list down, she looks over the control panel. There are a series of levers, labelled: _power_. Pushing up all the levers, she hears a series of sounds, like thunder, and the lights across the panel flicker on.

Helena climbs the metal staircase up to the second floor. Jogging up them, her footsteps make a hollow metal ringing sound as they hit the iron stairs. Reaching the top, she looks around, then heads left. She hears the sound of the generators kicking in, as the lights around come on. Making it to the first office she opens the door, stepping in cautiously. The office is empty, a desk situated in one corner. File cabinets and a tall plant stand at the back wall, on either side of a window. The pale winter light flows in, giving the room a melancholic glow. Looking around the room, she approaches the desk, grabbing a manilla folder. She opens it and looks over the documents inside.

_Gladius: Its Goals & Purpose_

_The American Empire is at a crossroads, and the future looks bleak. In the aftermath of the collapse of the Soviet Union, the US finds itself with no imposing threat to its security. American hegemony is pervasive, nearly unchallenged. While this may seem good on its surface, it comes with a variety of ominous caveats. The greatest enemy to American interests has always been the public itself. An apathy and ignorance pervades our culture, and trends among public opinion are grim. Without some catalysing threat, or incident, the masses tend to move progressively in an anti-militaristic direction, majorities support reductions in Defence spending, a more diplomatic approach in our foreign policy, and a shift of resources into the public sphere. These views are not only profoundly regressive, but threaten the established interests._

_Our group, though small, is properly positioned to shift the direction the US is heading in. We are motivated by a noble vision: The New American Century. This vision requires a radical shift in both foreign and domestic policy. A radical shift in policy requires a radical shift in public opinion. So our goals depend on two profound changes:_

_1.) The establishment of a new national security threat. Since no tangible culprit exists, an abstract threat needs to be created. Something unseen but omnipresent._

_2.) A catalysing event, like the Raccoon City Incident, which will infuriate and terrorise the American people. It is not enough for the public to support our agenda, they must demand it._

_This is where the Gladius comes in. Your goal here is to train (if possible) and analyse the BOWs at your disposal. Through intensive research, we may be able to estimate the impact of a controlled outbreak. The second role of Gladius is to train the military for a potential outbreak. If one were to come, if a BOW epidemic were to strike a major American city, we would need to contain it. In this respect, Gladius is arguably the most vital aspect of TNAC. Overseen by Secretary Hagel, I have full confidence that Gladius will be successful in attaining its goals: training of BOWs, and containment. If, through your research, you find that this generation of BOWs are incapable of training, emphasis will be shifted to the issues of containment._

_Thank you for your service and your patriotism._

_- The Prince_

Folding up this memo, she places it in her pocket then sets the folder down. Helena walks around the desk and methodically searches the drawers, fining nothing of any particular interest. Turning from the desk, she makes her way out of the office, back onto the main walkway.

She walks to the next room, and opens the door. Stopping momentarily, she turns to see Leon at the top of the staircase. He nods to her and heads in the opposite direction, to search the rooms on the other side. Inside the room, she finds a series of lockers lining the walls. It appears to be some kind of a weapon storage room, but it has been cleared out. Making her way around the room, she analyses the open lockers. A few stray items have been left behind. Photographs of soldiers, their families, items of clothing. Halfway around the room, Helena peers into an open locker. A belt with six grenades hang from a hook inside. She grabs it, throwing it over her shoulder, then continues. The rest of the room is barren. She comes back to the doorway, stepping outside, she continues around the walkway.

Passing rows of windows, she looks outside. Snow falls lightly over the forest outside. Stopping, she presses a hand against the cold glass, looking off into the distance. The forest stretches on for miles without any signs of civilisation in sight. Sliding her hand from the window, Helena comes to the end of the walkway. She turns left, and comes to a door. She opens it and walks inside. In the centre of the room, a desk sits, facing the doorway. Resting on the right side of the desk there is a plaque with a name engraved on it: _Secretary of Defence, Emmanuel Hagel_. Walking around the desk, she opens its drawers, looking through them for anything of interest. In the first drawer she finds a card with a magnetic strip across it. Flipping it over, it has a picture of Hagel on it, with his name displayed below it. At the bottom, she reads an embossed phrase: _Full Clearance_. She slides it in her pocket. The next drawers is empty. Checking the drawer on the other side, the top one is empty. Opening the bottom drawers she finds an envelope. It's been ripped open at the top. Across its back, a type-written label. _Attn: Secretary Hagel_. Pulling out its contents, she finds a short letter. She reads it:

_Memo: Secretary Hagel_

_Congratulations on your success at the Gladius thus far. Though many within our group are apprehensive about our operations here, the work you are doing is crucial and it is my opinion that your work will become vital in the near future. I've received your memos regarding past BOW breaches and I want you to know that I consider the security of Gladius a high priority. This facility poses a potential risk of blowback which I am both cognisant, and concerned by. Within the coming weeks, fortifications will be constructed to ensure that there will be no more casualties suffered within the walls of Gladius. For the time being, do what you can to practice the greatest deal of prudence._

_- The Prince (11/25/1998)_

Coming out from the last office she sees Leon standing outside waiting for her. He leans back against the rail with his arms folded. Helena stop in front of him, folding her arms to mirror him.

"Are those grenades?" Leon says, looking over the belt hanging from Helena's shoulders.

"Yep," she replies with a grin, then grasping them she looks at him with a playfully suspicious grin, "Hands off! There mine."

"Did you find anything?" Leon asks, shifting back to the business at hand.

"Not much," Helena replies, "Hagel was working here at some point… Looking through his office I came across an instructional document, pertaining to the purpose of the Gladius."

"Which is?"

"It seems as though it is a BOW training facility - like Jill said. But, according to the memo, the main purpose of the facility is to train the military to contain a T-Virus outbreak - although the memo never explicitly mentions the T-Virus… The memo alludes to some broad, ideological goal: The New American Century."

Leon looks at her quizzically.

"The idea," she continues, "is to shift public opinion. To get people to support a more militaristic agenda. It ominously alludes to a potential 'BOW outbreak' in a major American city."

"Is it admissible proof?"

"It's all written in language vague enough to maintain plausible deniability, but it seems to validate the narrative that we've been shifting towards… It's circumstantial, at best."

"Good work… Did you find anything else?"

"I found a pass card as well, but other than that - nothing."

"I'm afraid I didn't have much luck on my side… But I did learn that there are at least two floors below this one. Some documents I uncovered refer to 'highly-weaponised BOWs' with extraordinarily long tongues."

"Tongues?"

"Yeah, I think it refers to what the Raccoon Police referred to as 'lickers'… Augmented zombies that crawl on all fours. If they're here, we're in deep shit. They're faster, stronger, more deadly than zombies."

Walking back over to the staircase, their footsteps ring against the metal grid below them. Reaching the stairs, they head down. Seeing Jill at the bottom. She looks up at them.

"Any luck?" she says.

"We've found a few things of interest," Leon starts, "We have a pass card, and some concrete evidence that Hagel worked here. And that he was working on a program involving BOWs."

"Good," Jill replies, "I've got the power back on… We'll need to go underground."

Reaching the bottom of the stairs, they walk over to the sealed doors.

"What's inside this room?" Leon asks.

"It should be an elevator," Jill answers, "But the doors have been welded shut."

"Any idea how we get in?"

"Yes," says Jill, "I brought something for just this occasion."

Turning from them, Jill jogs out from the warehouse, making her way back to the car. As they watch her go, Helena turns to Leon. She looks over at him for a moment with a solemn expression. Trying to gather her thoughts, she looks around the room. _I have to say something._ She draws in a deep breath and tries to speak, but stops herself, sighing heavily. Standing in front of the armoured doors, Helena looks over Leon again. He stares down at the floor as if deep in thought. Clearing her throat, as if about to deliver a speech, Helena breaks the silence.

"Earlier," she starts apprehensively, "I was going to talk to you about something."

Leon looks up at her and nods gravely, Helena continues.

"Before the president's declaration of war, you pushed me up against the wall. You kissed me."

"Yeah, I'm sorry about that. I guess the emotion of this whole affair got to me. It was unacceptable."

"When… When I bring up Ada Wong, you become very agitated… There's something there, isn't there? It's glaringly obvious."

Leon looks back at her without responding.

"This woman has her hooks in you," Helena says sympathetically, "I don't think it's good for you… I don't know where this investigation is going, or if it's going anywhere at all… But we're partners now… Aren't we?"

Leon nods solemnly.

"I can tell you want to get out of this… _thing_ you have with Ada. Well, I've been thinking about that kiss all day. If you want to do it again, you're welcome."

Leon and Helena lock eyes for a long moment. An unspoken agreement is bound between the two. They've only been together for the last 48 hours, but fate has seemed to bind them in these incredible circumstance. Racing against time, trying to stop a war in its final hours, both are swept up in the emotion of their seemingly hopeless struggle. Leon opens his mouth to speak, but as her does so, the clicking of Jill's footsteps interrupts them as she emerges from behind the crates. Carrying a large black case, she carefully sets it down. She turns some wheels on its side, then pops the latches, opening it up.

"C4 explosives," Jill says, looking up at them with a mischievous grin.

"C4s?" Helena replies with a surprised expression, "Where did you get those?"

"I have my contacts."

"Every body has there contacts."

Inside the case, there is a grey box, and a switch with an antenna attached. Grabbing them, Jill walks over to the door, sticking the box up against them. Flicking a switch, a red light comes on. Turning around, she guides them out from the warehouse. Helena and Leon exchange a glance as they go. Walking hurriedly, they make their way out of the building, pressing their backs up against the wall outside. Jill pulls out the antenna on the remote control. Pulling up the red latch, she flicks a chrome switch beneath it, a red light on the controller flickers on. Jill looks over her partners with a gleeful expression, placing her thumb over the button.

"This is gonna be fun."

She presses the button and a deafening explosion rocks the building, a shockwave runs through their bodies as fragments of wood and steel fly out through the doorway. With a heavy rumble the walls of the warehouse shake and rattle. As debris hits the snowy ground outside, they stand awestruck for a moment. Jill turns to them with her mouth agape.

"That was awesome!"

The trio head back inside to assess the damage. The wooden crates around the warehouse are decimated. Pipes and shattered wood lie about, some smouldering with patches of fire. All obstructions cleared away, they can see the armoured doors they had bombed. Warped, ripped loose from their bearings, they lie inside a small room, revealing an elevator. Stepping over the broken crates, they come to the doors, walking past them to the elevator inside. Next to the elevator doors are three floors marked on a panel, with open and close buttons beneath them, on the side there is a slot for a keycard. The top one reads 'M', then under it, 'B1', and lastly 'B2'. The bottom one is currently lit up, indicating that the elevator is at the bottom. Reaching into her pocket, Helena grabs the card she had taken. When she slides it through the slot, it beeps. She presses 'M'. They hear the hum as the elevator makes its way up to them.

As 'B1' lights up and the sound of the elevator grows louder, they all draw their guns, pointing them into the doorway. 'M' lights up and their is a ding, as the elevator doors open. Squeezing the trigger slightly, Leon eases his grip as the empty cabin opens up. They lower their guns, looking inside. A dry puddle of blood stains the floor, streaks of blood cover the walls. Leon puts his foot in the doorway, turning to Jill and Helena.

"Let's go to 'B1'," he says, "Be on guard, I have a feeling we won't be alone."


	9. Chapter 9: Beneath Gladius

**Disclaimer: Resident Evil, it's characters and all other copyrighted terms belong to Capcom and its respective owners.**

**************Note on Chapter Nine: PLEASE SHOW SUPPORT! The lack of support on the last two chapters was really discouraging, and this one took a lot of effort. This is the second chapter in the 'Gladius' saga. In this chapter, Leon, Helena, and Jill encounter a myriad of monsters. THIS CHAPTER IS EXTREMELY VIOLENT. There is still one more chapter in 'Gladius'. The more support I get, the quicker I'll write it.**

******Please Fav, Follow, and Review... But most of all, ENJOY!**

* * *

**Chapter Nine: Beneath Gladius**

Washington, DC (12/28/1998)

Director Robert Haldeman clears his throat. He sits at the end of a long black table with two lamps hanging overhead. Seated around the table are all the same figures from before, some handling their glasses anxiously, others waiting patiently for the meeting to begin. Haldeman picks up his glass of water and takes a sip. Setting it down, he organises some papers sitting in front of him. Looking over the table, he begins.

"Gentlemen," he says, then looks at Ada, "and ladies. We've received some rather unfortunate news earlier today… As many of you may have heard, it appears that the Secretary of State was shot and killed in his bed, early this morning. According to our intelligence, the assassin got access to his home through an open window on the fourteenth floor. Whoever is responsible for his murder got in and out without coming through the building, as authorities found nothing while reviewing the security camera footage. As tragic as this loss is, it may be for the best, as Secretary Peterson represented an impediment to our plans to date."

"A devastating blow to our republic," adds General Alexander, "Peterson was an honest official."

"Indeed," continues Haldeman, "It is my personal theory, and the theory of many others, that Iranian spies were responsible for his assassination. In light of the Iranian government's relentless attacks on the American populace, it seems it is time to strengthen the Anti-Terrorism Act. The government is helpless to prevent these attacks without a temporary suspension of Habeas Corpus. Furthermore, amendments must be made to give Federal institutions the ability to perform immediate surveillance on US citizens without having to go through lengthy judicial reviews. And, finally, an amendment must be made to allow for suspected terrorists to be indefinitely detained in times of national emergency."

"Those are sober and prudent recommendations," Secretary Hagel interjects.

"There are still two major impediments left to our plans," Haldeman says, "It would be a shame if something were to happen to them."

Reaching inside his decorated military uniform, he retrieves a small white envelope from his inside pocket. Setting it down on the table, he slides it across to Ada. Picking it up, she opens the envelope, taking a small card from it. She reads the card:

_Special Agent Helena Harper_

_Whereabouts: Unknown_

_Last spotted: Detroit, Michigan (December 27, 1998)_

Ada puts the card back into the envelope and lays it on the table. Looking over at Haldeman, she nods. He clears his throat once more.

"We've been extremely happy with your work, Ms. Wong," Haldeman says, "With this one task completed, we'd be happy to invite you into the family."

"Consider it done," Ada says with a smile.

.

.

Outside Detroit, MI (12/28/1998)

As the three step into the elevator, Leon presses 'B1'. The doors close and the elevator moves down, stopping at the next floor. With a ding, the door opens into a long, dark hallway. The floor is made of dark concrete, and the walls around are covered in a metallic siding. Down the long hall there are a series of doors. On each, a letter and a number. The first door on their left is some ten feet away and reads: _A1._ Directly across from it, a second door reads: _A2._ They continue, sequentially, from that point onward. A line of florescent lights shine overhead, but many of them are smashed. Every third or fourth light flickers on and off. Streaks of dry blood cover the floor, walls, and ceiling. Shell casing are scattered throughout. Stepping from the elevator, they look down the darkened corridor. Helena looks up at the ceiling.

"They were shooting _up_ at the ceiling," she says.

Making their way down the corridor, their footsteps reverberate through their barren passage. A tense, ominous feeling over hangs them. The air down underground is stale, and the sparsely lit hall is claustrophobic. Walking onwards they come to the first set of doors. Leon and Helena head into A1, with their guns drawn. As he opens the door, Leon turns right and left, checking the room and then disappearing into the darkness. Watching them go, Jill turns right, going into A2. The door opens with a heavy metallic groan. Inside, the room is nearly pitch black. A blue light in the distance flickers on and off, creating a strobe-like affect. She steps into the room, gripping her gun. Arranged around the room are shelves and tables. It seems as though it is some sort of resource centre, or staff room. It's in total disarray. Papers, garbage, and chairs are strewn about. The light cuts out for a moment. Jill stands still waiting for it to come back on. It flickers back on and Jill heads through the darkened room. Stepping over a fallen chair, she turns sideways to squeeze between a table and a shelf. She looks over them for something of use, but nothing catches her eye. Moving on, she sees a pair of shelves, filled with books. Walking to it, she strains to see in the flickering, blue-filtered light. They all appear to be military books, and some recreational materials - magazines and miscellaneous material. Walking around the side of the shelves, she stops, as the light cuts out again. In the darkness, she feels to hands seize her shoulders. Jill lets out a slight scream as she presses her hands back against her attacker. The lights come on again and she sees the mangled face of a zombie inches from her own. It groans, a gargling noise coming from its open jaws. The creature pulls her close, but Jill pushes back against it. Raising her leg, she kicks it back. Raising her gun, she fires off a shot. The zombie falls limp, but another comes up behind it. Stepping over its fallen compatriot it reaches out to grab Jill, but she fires a shot into its face. Its teeth shatter outwards and it staggers. She squeezes the trigger again, and as a shot rings out, the zombies falls at the side of the other. Turning back, Jill heads back to the hallway, coming through the door she had entered. Looking over at Helena and Leon, they shake their heads indicating that neither party found anything of use.

Their guns hanging at their sides, they head down the long corridor. Helena slides her gun in her holster, grabbing her shotgun with both hands. As they advance some ten feet or so, Leon stops, holding up a hand to signal the others to follow suit. He points off into the distance. Farther down the hall, there is the silhouette of a figure, clinging to the ceiling. Leon and Jill draw their guns, Helena her shotgun. They walk towards it slowly, though it doesn't seem to notice them. Within ten feet, Leon takes aim. Squeezing the trigger, a shot rings through the corridor. The creature falls from the ceiling onto its back and screeches in pain. Flipping over it hisses, racing on all fours toward its attackers. The three open fire, unleashing a torrent of bullets. Shots rip through it. Blood splashes outwards as it rushes towards them, a pair of bullets rip through its skull. Letting out a high-pitched scream the creature falls dead, twitching from a few seconds, then going limp. Walking over to it, they look down on their kill. A skinless humanoid lies at their feet. Its muscular body ends with long claws on its hands and feet. Its face is featureless, its open mouth exposing a row of sharp teeth. A long pointed tongue hangs out, lying on the floor. A puddle of blood spreads out from the monster.

"A licker," Leon says. Helena and Jill look over at him quizzically.

"We must have shot it six or seven times," Helena adds.

"They don't go down as easily as the zombies," Leon instructs, "I fought these back in Raccoon City… There'll be more."

As they walk past the fallen licker, they come across doors labelled A3 and A4. Jill goes right, into A4, and Leon and Helena go into A3. The room inside is dimly lit. A single, blue backup light shines over the room, casting a faint glow. The room appears barren for the most part, though it is too dark to see the opposite wall. With their weapons drawn, ready for conflict, they move deeper inside. It's a holding cell of some kind, blood is smeared across the walls and floor. The fall of their footsteps arouses three zombies dressed in military fatigues. Groaning, they stumble towards their prey, emerging from the shadows. Raising their guns Leon and Helena approach. Leon shoots one on the right, hitting the side of the head, tearing loose skin and bone. A second shot rings out, blood and brains explode out of the back of its head as the creature falls flat. Helena fires her shotgun. A sharp blast echoes through the room and her targets head explodes in a pool of blood. She pumps her grip and fires at the third. Its head bursts open and it collapses to the floor. Lowering their weapons as they pass the bodies, they search the far corners of the room. A dead body lies with its back against the wall. A shirtless man with blue hospital pants on, there is a gunshot wound in its left temple. Helena looks down on the corpse. _There appears to be nothing here_. Suddenly, Jill's voice cuts through the air.

"Leon!"

Helena and Leon spin around and run to the door. Running out in the hall they see her standing with her weapon pointed down the hall.

"Lickers!"

Looking into the distance, they see three shadowed figures crawling across the walls and ceiling with incredible speed. Jill and Leon open fire, shooting at their attackers. They scale the walls, coming under a working light. Their skinless torsos shining, bullets zip past them. They let out screeching yelps as shots tear through their bodies, but continued unabated. The nearest one jumps from the wall to the floor. Helena pumps her shotgun as it leaps towards Leon, drawing back one clawed hand to slash at him. Helena fires. The lickers is launched backwards, a gaping holed left in its abdomen as its insides pour out onto the floor. Shots tear through the exposed brain of another, and as chunks rain down the licker falls from the ceiling to the floor. The last one jumps from one wall to the opposite wall, dodging their fire, then to the floor. Its long tongue shoots outward, slashing across Leon's chest. He lets out an agonised cry. Jill fires through its brain at point-blank range - chunks of brain spattering across her chest - and the creature falls dead at their feet.

Leon clasps a hand to his chest. There is a long slash across his shirt, blood trickling down from it. Rushing to him, Helena grabs his arm.

"You're cut," she says breathlessly, "we have to administer the vaccine right now!"

"No," Leon says through clenched teeth, "I'm immune to the T-Virus."

"You're immune?"

"Yeah," he says, pulling back his hand and looking at the blood running over it, "a small percentage of people are immune. I was bit in Raccoon City. Jill is immune, too. We'd both be dead if it weren't for some _genetic lottery._ And, now that you've been given the vaccine, we're all immune."

"Yeah," Jill adds, "but we're not immune to death, and if there are more of those lickers coming, our chances don't look too good."

Helena looks over at Jill for a moment, then turns back to Leon.

"We need to take care of that cut anyways."

"Don't worry about it," Leon says, "it's only superficial. If we come across a first aid room, we'll tend to it there."

Their conversation is cut short as a hissing, gurgling noise come from one of the lickers. Lying on its back, the one Helena had shot in the abdomen begins to writhe around on the floor. Its body torn opens, its internal organs are scattered over the floor in a pool of blood. Its long tongue flops around on the floor as the creature tries to turn over. Stepping up to it, Helena pumps her shotgun. She point is at the lickers head and fires. Its head explodes over the floor and only the bloody stump of its neck is left behind.

"Alright," Helena says, turning her head back to face her partners, "let's go."

As they continue down the hall, Helena walks ahead. Grabbing a handful of shells from her cargo pockets, she starts to reload her shotgun. Their footsteps reverberate through the hall as they go, leaving a trail of bloody footprints behind them. Jill ejects a clip, snapping another into place. Leon clasps his hand to his chest as they walk. Twenty feet on, they come across more doors. On the left a door labelled A5 and on the left a pair of swinging double-doors labelled A6. Walking to the double doors, Jill looks through a window into the room.

"Shit," she sighs, "take a look at this."

They crowd around the doors, looking inwards. It's a large room filled with stretchers, but each one has velcro straps on it, as though intended to restrain a subject. Standing around the room are a variety of zombies. Three wear military uniforms, two wear lab coats, and another five or six are shirtless with blue hospital pants on. They stand around the room motionless, like robots that have been switched off. With the eerie blue emergency lights shining over them, they look like a snapshot of someone's nightmare.

"Do we need to go in there?" Leon whispers.

"If we do," Helena replies, "we better save it for last."

The trio turn from the doors and head the the opposite room. Inside, they find a small office. There is no light, except the dim light coming through the doorway. In the middle of the room there is a desk, with bookshelves and cabinets arranged around the walls. A plaque sits on the corner of the desk: _Lieutenant George Allen._ Walking into the room, Jill and Helena walk around opposite ends of the desk, checking the drawers. Leon leans up against the doorway, watching the opposite room cautiously. He hears paper rustling as his partners scour for clues. He turns his head back to them as he hears a drawer close. Helena looks up at him, shaking her head.

"Nothing," she says.

"This guy's an underling," Jill adds as they walk back to the door.

Turning left from the door, they continue down the hall. Three rooms remain. A door on the left, reads B7, on the right B8, and at the end of the hall a pair of heavy, sliding steel doors with B9 stencilled over them. Making it to the end of the hall, they stand between the three doors. Looking over them for a moment, Helena turns to the door on the left. She finds the door open, but something is obstructing it. Stepping back, she kicks in the door. It flies open, a shattered wooden chair falling to the ground as she points her shotgun into the darkness. It's another office. A desk is in the middle of the room, with a man in a lab coat lying on the ground. He has a bullet hole in his temple and he holds a gun in his hand. Jill and Helena step into the room. Glancing over the body, they step to the desk. Helena grabs a clipboard from the desk, and reads it aloud.

"Inventory of Bio Organic Weapons"

Looking over the list, there are eight digit numbers by each, then a categorisation of each creature. Glancing over them, they all seems to fit into one of two categories: 'standard humanoid BOW', and 'weaponised BOW'. She assumes the first refers to zombies, the second lickers. After each, a status, either 'active' or 'terminated'. Over the five pages listed, there appear to be a hundred or more. Coming to the final page, she reads the last two aloud.

"Subject No 01002089 Komodo BOW, Status: Active. Subject No 11032013 Tyrant BOW, Status: Active," Helena looks up at Jill.

"There's a Tyrant here," she says.

"Shit," Leon says, sighing, "Alright, we have no choice but to keep going."

Helena tears out the end of the last page, placing the slip of paper in her pocket. They make their way from the office, crossing the hall to the opposite door. Jill opens it, pointing her gun into the darkness and entering cautiously. The room glows with the same blue light they had seen throughout the Gladius. In the middle of the room, a solitary zombie stands in military fatigues. Around him, a dozen or more shirtless corpses lie strewn about. As it sees Jill, it jerks into motion, raising its hands and moaning hungrily. She takes two quick, shuffling steps towards it, then shoots it in the head. It falls to its knees, then collapses backwards, folding up in an unnatural position. Looking over the bodies in the room, she analyses them cautiously.

"The all have head wounds," Jill says.

"Maybe they killed all their BOWs when they realised the Gladius was being overtaken," Leon conjectures, placing a hand to his chin.

"There should be a lot more than we've seen so far," Helena adds, "The inventory listed at least a hundred."

Jill focuses on a vault at the opposite end of the room. She gestures for the other two to follow. Stepping over the bodies on the floor, she walks over to it. It's a heavy iron door, with latch on it. It's some four-by-four feet and is mounted a few feet above the ground. Looking over it for a moment, Jill pulls the latch. The iron door opens with a heavy groan.

"Oh, my God…"

Inside the vault there are thick piles of ashes, with charred human remains scattered around. Blackened skulls and bones, burned to a crisp lie atop each other.

"It's a crematorium," Helena gasps, in disbelief, "They've been burning their test subjects."

"This is unbelievable," Jill says, shaking her head, "This is where all their rejected BOWs went… Into a crematorium. It's like something out of Nazi Germany."

"Let's keep going," Leon says, taking one last look at the oven before turning his back on the oven.

They step over the corpses on the floor as they make their way back to the door. Leaving the crematorium behind, they walk back out into the hall, stepping to the sliding metal doors at the end. Standing before the door they see a key card slot by its side, with a bid red button under it, labelled: _Emergency Lock._ Reaching into her pocket, Helena retrieves her key card. She slides it through the slot it beeps twice, a green light coming on as the doors slide open. Stepping inside, they see a series of glass cells arranged around a large room. All the cases are smashed. They stop in their tracks. Around the room, a dozen or more lickers are on the walls and ceiling. In the middle of the room, another BOW. It's a Komodo Dragon. Twelve feet long, its skin has peeled from its body, its musculature glimmering under the pale blue lights. As they freeze, the lickers hiss, whipping their heads around to face them.

"Go back," Leon whispers, "Go back."

The shuffle backwards out the door. Jill hits the emergency lock as the lickers start to scale around the walls towards them. The door slides closed, then get stuck with a three foot space between them.

"Shit," Helena says.

She grabs two grenades from her belt. Biting down on the safety pins, she pulls them out, rolling them through the door way. Pinning their backs up against the wall, they hear the hissing of the approaching lickers. Two deafening explosions ring out, followed by the screeching of wounded lickers. The double-doors down the hall burst open, as zombies pour out from the room filled with stretchers, apparently attracted by the sound of the explosion.

"Run!" Leon shouts.

They break into a full sprint, racing down the hall towards the throng of zombies. As they reaching them, Leon throws his shoulder into one's chest, knocking it to the ground as he pushes through them. Helena follows, turning sideways and leaping between two zombies as the reach out to grab her. As Jill comes up, one zombie in military fatigues emerges. Hanging from his shoulder, an AK-47. Jill raises a gun, shooting it in the face. As it falls to the ground, she grabs its rifle, then dives through the crowd of zombies. Hitting the ground, she springs to her feet and races onwards. Turning around and running backwards, Jill fires down the hall, spraying gunfire into the throngs of zombies. Lickers pour through the doorway at the end of the hall, scaling the walls with incredible speed. Clouds of blood spray outwards as she shoots into the crowd of BOWs.

They jump over dead lickers as they race back to the elevator. Jill slips on a pool of blood, almost falling but managing to keep her footing. As they reach the end of the hall, Jill, Leon, and Helena spin around and stand shoulder to shoulder. They raise their weapons together and open fire. At the opposite end of the hall, the Komodo's head emerges between the doors as it tries to push its way through the narrow opening. As lickers close in on them, they waving their guns around frantically trying to pick off each approaching target. The deafening roar of gunfire reverberates through the hall, muting every other sound. Zombies collapse in the bullet storm and lickers fall from the wall, blood spraying everywhere. Pumping her shotgun Helena blasts a licker on the ceiling, she pumps her shotgun again, finding herself out of ammo. She drops her shotgun and draws her sidearm. Another licker dodges through the gunfire, racing along the ground. It leaps at Leon. He ducks under it. It crashes into him, toppling to the ground as it knocks Leon over. With lightning reflexes, he fires three shots into its skull, blowing its brains over the wall. A fourth shot makes a dull metallic click, as he realises he's out of ammunition. Climbing to his feet, Leon ejects the magazine and snaps in the next one. He grips his gun and aims down the hall.

The Komodo pushes its way through the doors. Setting foot in the hall, it hisses, and starts running towards the trio. It's footsteps pound the pavement as it races towards them. Leon and Helena open fire on it, Jill waiting till it gets closer. As it climbs over the corpses piled in the middle of the room, it heavy steps smashes their bodies. Jill lifts her AK-47 and opens fire. A roar of gunfire reverberates through the hall, chunks of flesh tearing from the Komodo's body. As it runs to their feet it opens it jaws wide. It snaps at Jill. She jumps over its head and lands behind it. The creature's huge tail swings at her, hit her in the midsection and sending her sprawling to the ground. Leon and Helena fire into its face. It snaps its head around, taking a bite at Leon. He dodges backwards. They keep shooting it in the head, but it only seems to enrage the monster. As it leaps again at Leon, he lifts his legs and stomps down on it, pinning it head to the floor. It rears back its head, knocking Leon on his back. Regaining her footing, Jill empties her magazine into the creature's side, ripping jagged holes in its muscly flesh. She drops her AK-47 and grabs her sidearm. Meanwhile, Helena continues to fire into its head. Her clip empties and she ejects it to snap in an extended clip. As she does so, the Komodo swats at her leg, hitting her above the knee. Her leg sweeps up in the air and she falls on her back, dropping her gun. It opens it jaws to bite her, but then snaps its head backwards as a round from Leon's gun tears through its head. Helena grabs a grenade and pulls the safety pin, throwing it inside the Komodo's mouth.

"Take cover!" Helena screams.

Scrambling away, they all dive into the nearest doorway. A deafening explosion rocks the building as Helena lands flat on her chest in an open room to her left. The wind knocked out of her, a shot of panic runs through her when she finds she can't breathe. Rolling onto her back, she wretches violently as she gasps for air. Suddenly, with a sharp pain, she feels her lungs fill with air. As she pants, her heart pounding in her chest, she rolls onto her side. She slowly raises herself from the floor. Her ears ringing, she pushes herself up into a seated position. The room is spinning, her vision is blurred. Clasping a hand to her chest, she takes in deep breathes as the room starts to steady. Through the ringing, she hears distorted voices. Helena rises to her feet, her legs wobbling beneath her. Her vision cleared, the ringing starts to die down and the voices become intelligible.

"Jill," Leon calls out, "Helena."

She staggers out from the room into the hall, Leon standing in the opposite doorway. A moment later Jill emerges from the next door down. Helena looks down on the Komodo. Its head has been blown clean off. Blood pours out from the mangled stump of its neck. The limp, muscular body is covered in bullet holes, a pool of blood surrounds its body. She turns her head to look down the hall. Blood, gore, and shell casings are strewn everywhere. Mangled bodies of lickers and zombies are scattered over the floor a few of them still twitching and gurgling. Chunks of brain lie in puddles of blood. Bones, limbs, organs. The whole environment is completely covered in hideous gore. She looks over at her partners. Specks of blood, brain, and bone cover their faces and clothes. Their clothes are torn. They look like they've been through hell. Panting as he leans up against the doorway, Leon looks over them.

"Is everyone okay?" he asks.

"Yeah," Jill replies after a moment.

"Yeah," Helena says nodding.

They all look over this disturbing, macabre scene with a disconnected awe. A long moment passes as they all catch their breath. Finally, looking over his partners, Leon coughs and opens his mouth to speak.

"So," he says, panting, "who's ready to go to the next floor?"

Helena and Jill look back at him with blank expressions. Jill lets out a long, whining groan as she leans against the doorframe, sliding to the ground. She presses the barrel of her gun against her temple and makes a shooting sound as she snaps her wrist back, feigning her suicide.

"Kill me now," Jill says, moaning, then drops her arm to the ground.


	10. Chapter 10: The Gladius Tyrant

**Disclaimer: Resident Evil, it's characters and all other copyrighted terms belong to Capcom and its respective owners.**

**Update: Sorry I haven't posted in awhile. I get a little discouraged from time to time, but a lot of reviews and support have trickled in over the last couple weeks. Hopefully I can get back in the swing of things and start uploading a chapter or two a week. In the coming chapters we'll develop the love story in much greater depth, and begin to clarify the conspiracy. This is the second-last chapter of part two... Part three will be four to six chapters long, and then the story will be done.**

**************Note on Chapter Ten: This is the final chapter in the three-part "Gladius Saga". This is another action-oriented chapter. After this chapter is done, it'll shift to a more romance/mystery oriented story for a couple chapters. This chapter also develops the relationship between Leon and Helena slightly. The more support I get, the quicker I'll write it.**

******Please Fav, Follow, and Review... But most of all, ENJOY!**

* * *

**Chapter Ten: The Gladius Tyrant**

Washington, DC (12/28/1998)

Opening a door, Ada walks into a room and closes the door behind her. Derek Simmons sits on the bed in the room where they had slept together a few days earlier. As a pale greyish-orange light filters in through the window, Simmons looks over her with a smile. He leans in with a suggestive expression, his eyes drifting up and down her body. Simmons wears a dress shirt, black tie, and black pants. Raising his hand to his tie, he grabs it and loosens it. He unbuttons the top button, looking over Ada with eager eyes. She wears a tight, form-fitting, short black dress and black high heels. Placing a hand on her hip she looks back at Simmons with a grin. The winter light of dusk washes into the room, casting a sensual glow over Ada as she stands, statuesque, in the centre of the room. Rising from the bed, he walks over to her, running his hands around her waist. He leans in to kiss her.

"Everything is going according to plan," Simmons says softly, whispering in her ear.

He kisses Ada's neck, then chest, as he drops to his knees. Drifting slowly, his hands down her back, over her behind and the back of her legs. Caressing her legs, he exhales as he kisses her thighs.

"Now," he says between kisses, "you only need to neutralise Agent Harper."

"That should be easy enough," Ada replies.

Simmons pushes Ada's dress up above her waist. Kissing her thigh once more, he grabs her black underwear, pulling them down around her knees. Grabbing her supple behind, he pulls her close, running his tongue between her legs. Ada closes her eyes as she places her hand on the back of his head, letting out a slight, pleasured moan.

"Do you know how you'll do it?" Simmons asks, looking up at her.

"I think I can get to her through Kennedy," Ada replies, pushing his face back between her thighs.

As she runs her hand through his hair, Simmons buries his face between her thighs. Guiding his tongue up between her lips Ada moans once more. Drawing back with a wet smack, he pulls her underwear down around her delicate ankles. As she steps out from them, Simmons rises to his feet, guiding Ada over to the bed. She pulls her black dress up over her head and lays it on the bed beside her. Now, only in a black lace bra, she lies back as Simmons kneels by the bed. Grabbing her left ankle, he slides her heel from her dainty foot, setting it aside. Then, taking her right leg, removes the other shoe. He kisses her foot, then ankle, as he works his way up between her legs.

"You have no idea how much power you'll have," he says, pushing her legs apart, "Once you're a member of _the Family_."

"The family?" Ada asks, lying on her back.

"That's how we refer to our fraternity," Simmons slides a finger inside her, biting gently on her midsection, "Once Harper is gone, you'll be part of the enlightened minority… No longer watching shadows on the wall… Once you're in, you'll meet the Prince."

"Mmm," Ada moans with pleasure as Simmons fingers her, running his tongue between her wet lips, "And who, may I ask, is the Prince?"

"I'm not at liberty to say, Ms Wong; but, he is the Patriarch of our family. The mentor. The spiritual guide. Never before have we had a woman in our group, Ada… I hope you realise how prestigious this honour is."

"Just shut up and eat me."

"Yes, ma'am."

.

.

The Gladius

Outside Detroit, MI (12/28/1998)

With a ding, the elevator opens into another long hall. Metal siding runs along the walls, with an iron grate overhead, pipes running down the length of the hall. A few feet ahead a pair of sliding metal doors stand. The trio walk up to the doors. Next to them, there is a slot for a key card. Below it there is a large red 'Emergency Lock' button. Helena takes her card and slides it through the slot. The doors slide open and they continue down the hall. They walk silently, their heels falling tiredly on the concrete floor beneath them. There is a second door, identical to the first. Helena slides her card through the slot and it slides open. Continuing down the hall, they see another door, with two rooms - one on the left, the other on the right. The room on the left has a red cross over the door. over the door, it reads 'First Aid'. The room on the right is unlabelled. They stop, and look around themselves.

"We better take care of Leon's cut," Helena says.

"I'll check the other room," Jill says, heading over to the opposite door.

"We'll meet back here."

Leon and Helena head over to the First Aid room. Opening the door, they step inside a small, darkened office. In the centre of the room, there is a medical bed, with a series of cupboards lined around the walls. With a sigh, Helena looks around, placing her hands on her hips. She looks back at Leon.

"Take your shirt and jacket off," she says flatly, "I'll try to find something to clean your wounds with."

Leon sits up on the medical bed and dutifully slides off his jacket, setting it beside him. Then, groaning painfully, he grabs the bottom of his shirt and pulls it up over his head and places it on top of his jacket. Looking down over his chest, he analyses the gash. The cut is about twelve to fourteen inches long, and about a quarter-inch deep. Blood runs down over his pecs and abs. As Leon sits looking over his wound, Helena searches the drawers and cupboards. Finding a bottle of peroxide, she sets it down on the counter, then continues to rummage about. Opening a drawer she finds a box of large, square adhesive bandages. She sets them next to the peroxide. Finally, she produces a box of sanitary clothes and sets it next to the other items.

"This'll have to do," Helena says as she turns around, then pauses as she sees Leon's grisly wound, "Jesus! I didn't realise how bad it was."

"It's no big deal," Leon replies casually, "Let's just get this cleaned and bandaged up."

Grabbing the peroxide, she takes off the cap and soaks one of the cloths. Placing one hand on Leon's side, she presses the cloth to his wound. He makes a painful hissing sound, drawing in air through clenched teeth.

"It's not that bad," Helena says.

"Easy for you to say."

As she runs the cloth over his long cut, she looks up at him sympathetically.

"Leon," she says. He looks back at her, "I was wondering… If we find the proof we're looking for, what are we going to do with it?"

"I guess you'll be putting it in your report."

"But if we want to stop this war… In such a short amount of time… Filing a report is going to filter through the bureaucratic process. It'll take weeks - or months - before any action takes place."

"What do you think we should do?"

"I don't know. I think we'll have to go through the media - if we want an immediate response."

"Sure."

"But we have no way of knowing if they'll even publish our report."

"I guess we'll just have to wait and see. It's all we _can_ do."

Finishing with the cleansing process, Helena grabs the bandages. Pinching his wound closed, she applies them. As she works her way across the cut, sticking the bandages on, she continues.

"I, uh," Helena starts, pausing, "I was wondering what going to happen with _us_… I mean, after this is all over."

"What do you mean?" Leon asks, running his hand through his hair as he looks back at her with his usual, stoic, uninterpretable expression.

"Are we going our separate ways?"

"I haven't though about it," Leon replies.

Helena looks down at his cut as she applies the final bandage. She steps back and sighs, looking over her impromptu medical work. She sighs once more.

"I was hoping we could keep in touch," Helena says, "I though we had _something_. Am I wrong?"

Leon looks down at the floor for a moment and exhales. He looks back up at Helena.

"I just want to get to the truth, whatever it is," he replies, side-stepping her question, "I think we both started out with some false assumptions - about what exactly happened in Detroit - now, we have to drop our assumptions. And we need to set aside our personal hang-ups - for the time being - and focus on the events unfolding in front of us. This is so much bigger than you or me. Tens - _or hundreds_ - of thousands of people are going to die if we don't find some way to stop this."

"Is this about Ada?" Helena asks with a spurned expression.

"It has nothing to do with Ada," Leon snaps back, slightly annoyed, "It has do with right and wrong - and truth."

"Sure."

Jill Valentine comes through the door, holding two AK-47s. With a big grin across her face, she steps up to them, then pauses awkwardly, suddenly aware of the tense atmosphere between Helena and Leon. Her grin melts away as she dons a more serious expression.

"Did you find any evidence?" Leon asks.

"Um, no," Jill replies, "What I _did_ find, was another AK and a magazine."

"Even better," Leon replies, somewhat sarcastically.

She hands one rifle over to Leon who looks over it for a moment.

"Good," he says as he sets the rifle aside and pulls his tattered shirt back on, "We're all done here… Let's see what we find in that last room."

Putting on his jacket, Leon slides off the medical bed. He grabs the AK-47. Silently, they make their way out of the first-aid room, coming to the door at the end of the hall. Grabbing her pass card, Helena slides it through the slot. The panel beeps twice and a green light flickers on. The doors slide open silently. Before them, a large laboratory looms. A series of blue, florescent lights hang overhead, casting an eerie glow over the setting. The room has been trashed. Vials and test tubes are smashed around, shelves are overturned. At the back of the room a glass chamber is situated, its enclosure shattered. In front of it a long desk faces it, shaped in a semi-circle. Computers, printers, and a variety of scientific tools are set atop it. As they look over the room, they catch site of a huge figure standing in the far right corner. It's the Tyrant. This once scarcely resembles the one they had encountered in Shen Manor. It looks like a man. With white skin and a bald head, it stands 8 or 9 feet tall, and has a mean, emotionless face. It is shirtless, its huge muscular arms look like a man's - it's hands are normal, not clawed like the Proto-Tyrant. It wears black leather pants, and heavy black boots. At the moment, it doesn't seem to notice them. The Tyrant stands motionless, turned slightly away from them.

Raising a hand in the air, Jill Valentine signals her associates to wait. Crouch down, she slowly creeps into the laboratory. As she advances, she looks over at the Tyrant periodically, while analysing her surroundings for anything of interest. Walking as softly as she can manage, each step seems to ring out loudly. She holds her breath as she comes to the long desk situated in from of the Tyrant's chamber. Three computers are arranged across the desk. Between each one a printer. The computers are all blacked out, apparently shut down from whatever power outage occurred. Inside the tray of one printer, files are stack. Jill reads them, but they appear to document some unrecognisable mathematical formulation, or possible some encrypted code. In any case, Jill figures it's nothing that they can use. She turns her head to check back on the Tyrant. It stands motionless still, locked in place like a marble statue. Looking under the desk, she sees a white tower. A disk is visible in its slot. Placing her finger over the button, she presses it, and the disk pops out with a click. She looks up at the Tyrant, but it remains motionless. She pulls the disk out and reads the label. _The Gladius Tyrant._ Jill puts the disk in her pocket and turns from the desk. As she turns her foot hits a glass container lying on the floor. It rings as it rolls away from her. The Tyrant springs to life. It snaps its head around, catching sight of Jill from across the room.

"Jill," Leon calls out, "Run!"

She breaks into a full sprint. The Tyrant starts immediately afterward. It's footsteps boom thunderously around the cavernous lab as it chases Jill with remarkable speed. She races through the doorway. Helena hits the 'Emergency' lock button and the doors slides closed. Soon after, a thunderous bang rocks the doors as it bends inwards. They turn and run. Another heavy blow hits the doors. They pass through the threshold of the next doorway and the Tyrant burst through the first set. Jill hits the emergency close button as the Tyrant emerges. As the doors slide closed, Helena rolls a grenade at its feet. The monster stares down curiously as the doors close before them. An explosions rocks the room as they turns and run to the next doorway. The Tyrant bursts through the second set of doors. Skin in a flayed loose in chunks. Blood streams down its body. Jill hits the close button and Helena rolls another grenade at its feet. Smarter than the Proto-Tyrant, this one folds its arms over its chest when it sees the grenade. The doors close and they hear another explosion. Soon after, the Tyrants begins smashing the next door, undeterred. Running to the elevator, Leon hits the button and the doors slide open. There is another bang as they step inside. Then, with a third bang, the Tyrant emerges as the elevator doors slide closed. Helena rolls her last grenade through the crack of the doors. As the elevator begins to rise, they hear the grenade explode, followed by the agonised, enraged roar of the Tyrant. The elevator beeps, then beeps once more, and then there is a cheerful 'ding' as the doors on the opposite side open into the ground floor warehouse they had come from. As they step out, the Tyrant's bloodied hand punches through the floor.

The trio run out from the warehouse, and as they cross the threshold through the entrance to the Gladius, they pin their back against the wall to catch their breath. The evening is coming to a close. Off in the distance, over the forest which stretches on to the horizon, a bright violet light shines from around the setting sun. Positioned in front of them, Leon's black sedan waits, parked facing them. Snow falls around them lightly. But no sooner then they reach the outside of the building, the Tyrant tears through the floor of the elevator and climbs up into the warehouse. Rising to its feet it throws its arms in the air and roars. Its skin its tattered and torn, blood runs down its muscular chest.

"Aim for the head and heart," Leon says to his partners.

They whip around their cover and fire into the warehouse, bullets cutting through the Tyrant's body. It roars again as it sprints towards its assailants. Running through the doorway it takes a swing at Leon. He dodges back as it slides past him, gliding across the snow-covered grass. The trio open fire on the monster, bullets ripping through its body. Regaining its footing, it turns and reaches out to grab Leon. He dives forward, rolling between its legs. Crouching, he spins around and fires into the monster's back. Catching Leon off-guard, it turns around quickly and grabs him. It massive hand grips his neck and shoulder, lifting him high in the air. A shot of pain runs through his neck. Leon drops his assault rifle to the ground and grips the huge hand crushing his windpipe. His legs kicking wildly, the monster looks into his eyes with a blank expression. Leon reaches into his jacket and grabs his 44 magnum revolver. Pointing the gun at the monster's face, he fires. The bullet his it in the eye and explodes out the side of its head.

The Tyrant lets out an agonised roar and throws Leon. He sails through the air and hits the windshield of his sedan. The glass shatters beneath him, dipping inwards, but without giving way. Jill slides behind the Tyrant and opens fire at its ankle. The bullets from her rifle rip through the monster's leg, blood spraying everywhere. It shattered ankle folds outwards, bone protruding from its mangled leg as the Tyrant falls heavily onto its back. On the opposite side, Helena runs up to the fallen monster. She pumps her shotgun and fires into its face. Skin and bone are blown from its skull. It thrashes its arms around impotently. She pumps and fires again. Its face becomes a bloody, unrecognisable mess. As she pump and fires again, Jill steps up on the opposite side. She changes magazines on her AK-47. Pointing down at its head, she opens fire. Bullets and shotgun shells rip the Tyrant's face apart. As its skull is blown away and its brain exposed, that too is ripped to shreds and the Tyrant finally goes limp.

Catching his breath, Leon sits up from the fractured windshield arched under him. He rubs his neck, sitting up on the hood of car. Letting out a heavy groan, Leon looks over the battlefield. Lying in front of the vehicle, the Tyrant lies motionless. It face is unrecognisably mangled. Chunks of brain and bone lie by what remains of its skull. Across the ivory sheet of snow which lies over the ground, specks of crimson blood freckle its surface. Standing over the behemoth, Jill and Helena lean over panting. Leon clears his throat as he climbs down from the hood of the car. His body aches, and he suddenly becomes aware of the fact that his legs are trembling beneath him. Looking over at his team, he manages to speak.

"Come on," he says, as they turn to face him, "We've got everything we needed here."

Step over to the driver's side door, he opens it and steps inside. As Jill and Helena make their way back to Leon's black sedan, they exchange a weary glance.

"So," Helena says, pausing, "What now?"

Jill shakes her head.

"I guess we see what's on this disk… Hopefully, it'll tell us whatever we need to know."

Walking around opposite sides of the car, Jill and Helena take their places at the back. As they do so, the engine starts. With a shattered, inward-arching windshield, and a scratched and dented bumper. The sedan pulls back out from the courtyard of this clandestine barracks, to make their way back to their motel.


	11. Chapter 11: High Tension

**Disclaimer: Resident Evil, it's characters and all other copyrighted terms belong to Capcom and its respective owners.**

**********First Off: I'm sorry about the lack of content lately. I've been working alot and haven't had time to write. I have a couple weeks off, so hopefully I can upload 3 or 4 chapters in the next couple weeks. Keep the support coming and I'll have this stuff up as quickly as possible.**

**********Note on Chapter Eleven: This is the final chapter of Part 2. There will be 5 to 7 chapters in the final part, so this story is almost done. This chapter is high on character development, focusing on Helena. Warning: There will be sexual content, so hopefully no one is offended by it.**

******Please Fav, Follow, and Review... But most of all, ENJOY!**

* * *

**Chapter 11: High Tension**

Washington, DC (12/28/1998)

Running her nimble hand inside a black leather bag, Ada Wong retrieves Simmons' grey laptop. Hanging at her side, she walks over to a table in the corner. Setting it down, she opens it and takes a seat. Pressing the power button, the screen flickers on. A long-in screen comes up, with a window reading 'Derek Simmons' on it. Below his name, there is a space for a password. She types in _adawong1974._ Access granted. Loading briefly, the desktop comes up. Folders are scattered over the screen: _CIA Protocol, Case Files, Documents, Applications, _etc. Glancing over them, her eyes narrow on a folder in the bottom right corner: _Southwoods._ Ada double-clicks on the folder. Another password window pops up. Biting her bottom lip, she thinks for a moment, then types: _theprince._ Incorrect Password. Pausing for a moment, she tries again: _thefamily._ The window disappears and the folder opens. Inside, there are a series of files:

_The Gladius_

_The Napoleon Project_

_Operation Southwoods_

_The New American Century_

_Family Procedures_

_The Prince_

_Risk Assessment_

_The Lyndon B Johnson Federal Building_

Reading off the lists of files, Ada moves the mouse over them. She hovers of 'the Prince' momentarily, then, moving upwards, double-clicks on 'Operation Southwoods'.

.

.

Flint, MI (12/28/1998)

Light flows through the shade of a bedside lamp, casting a dull, peach glow over the small motel room. Sitting with one leg off the bed, Helena looks over her notes. Her damp hair lies flat on her head, a few stray locks hanging over the sides of her face. Raising one hand from her documents, she adjusts the sleeveless white undershirt which hangs low over her breasts. Drawing her leg back she rubs her bare foot against her knee. She wears a pair of baggy, faded grey pyjama pants. She shakes her hair from her face as she continues reading. A lethargy settles over her. It's been a long, strenuous day. As her weariness begins to overtake her, she struggles to review her documents.

After they arrived at the motel, Jill took her car and departed. With her, she had what remained of the T-Virus vaccine, the disc they had received from the Gladius, and copies of some previously procured documentation. Jill was entrusted to get the vaccine to a reliable contact - one who could analyse and duplicate the vaccine in the hopes of distributing it, should the virus spread beyond Detroit. She had a contact, so she said, who could help them to decipher and proliferate the evidence they had gathered so far. Emma Goodman. A journalist who had worked alongside Jill Valentine and Chris Redfield in the Sudan, in the wake of the military bombing of the pharmaceutical warehouse. Goodman, a well known and reputable freelance journalist, was their best hope of getting the truth out to the American public - their only hope of preventing the invasion from taking place. Potentially hundreds of thousands of lives hang in the balance. With less than 72 hours until the invasion, the clandestine investigators are engaged in a race against time to uncover the truth.

The bathroom door opens and Leon Kennedy emerges from doorway, wisps of steam following behind him into the dimly lit bedroom. His hair dampened, a newly applied bandage covers half of the cut running across his sharply-defined chest. Shirtless, he wears his same faded jeans. Its belt undone, it hangs down, the buckle rattling as he walks into the room. Helena looks up at him.

"How's your cut?" she asks.

Leon looks down at his chest for a moment, then back at her. He buckles his belt.

"It's fine," he says off-handishly, "should leave a scar though."

Sitting on the edge of the bed, Leon guides his hair back from his face as he leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees and looking down at the grey motel room carpet.

"What do we got?" Leon asks.

"Not much," Helena replies with a sigh, "A lot of circumstantial evidence… But if we're going to stop this war, we'll have to find something _hard_.And it gets worse… If the information gets out on the day of the invasion, it'll be too late. We have to make sure our story is published on the morning of the invasion, which means we'll have to get it to the press by the time the papers close - 11pm on the 30th. That leaves us with about 48 hours to get our shit together."

"Damn it," Leon mutters under his breath, "Where do we go from here?"

"I don't know," Helena replies with a shrug, "that's the problem. That disc. That's all we have left. If we don't find anything there, we're out of luck."

"So, all that shit at the Gladius… It may have all been for nothing?"

"Afraid so."

"I look back on my life," Leon says through clenched teeth, "Becoming a cop… I had so much faith in the government. I can't believe how naive I was. Our government is run by murderers, crooks. I used to defend our system… Is the whole thing a sham? Is the whole system corrupt?"

"I don't think it's as bad as that. My father was a police officer. He worked for the CIA when it was still a relatively new organisation… He was someone who believed in the rule of law. _I_ believe in the rule of law. I have faith in our system… But when corrupt elements subvert it, responsible people - people who believe in justice, in America - have to do what they need to take it back."

"If our government is responsible for bombing the MacNamara building - killing our citizens - that's unforgivable. You can't come back from that."

"_If_ our government is responsible, we'll make sure whoever was involved is held accountable."

"You really believe that shit?"

"Yeah," Helena replies with a laugh, "I really believe that _shit_. Our system is fundamentally good. And there are a lot of good people working within it. I come from a long line of people who believed in this country. My grandfather fought in World War 2, my dad was in Korea, then the police and CIA, and now I'm in the CIA. It's not the _illuminati cabal_ you think it is. For the most part, it's made up of boring, paper-pushing bureaucrats, and a lot of genuine patriots."

Leon stares at her with a dismissive, cynical grin.

"That was a cute monologue," he retorts.

"Fuck you," Helena says, shaking her head with a grin, "What do _you_ believe in?"

"Let's see," Leon says, looking down at the floor with a playful grin across his face, "I believe that… our government and media are made up of crooks and liars…"

"Jesus Christ."

"I believe that the noble, honourable people are in the minority… and I believe that, in _no circumstances_, should you ever trust a woman."

"You mean that, don't you?" Helena asks with raised eyebrows.

"I do."

"Jeez," she says, shaking her head with a sardonic grin, "You're a sexist asshole… I don't know what happened to you to make you so bitter, but you have no idea how many hoops women have to jump through make it in this world."

"Such as?"

"I was raised, by my dad, to serve this country. I always wanted to be a cop, or a soldier… I was raised in a patriotic household… As soon as I got into college, I was hit with all of society's expectations. People - men, particularly - constantly questioning my career choice, my qualifications. I finished college at the top of my class, became a cop, and still no one seemed to take me seriously. I was better at my job than anyone else in my department, but all my peers addressed my like a damsel in distress. Every compliment I'd received would be loaded with some _innuendo_… The only reason I advanced as far as I have is because I worked twice as hard and was twice as effective as my closest peer. The professors I've had, the chiefs, lieutenants, directors… all male… The really fucked up thing about it… I have to push my femininity down, repress it. If I don't, I'll be objectified. But even that has a catch… The more professional I am - the more _asexual - _the more I get labelled as a prude, a lesbian - or whatever. A woman is always classified by her sexuality: pretty or ugly, slutty or frigid - I can't win… None of your stereotypes apply to me. I may be a young woman, but I have no interest in any of the things a woman is supposed to be interested in…"

Pausing for a moment, Helena opens her mouth to say something then stops herself. Then, looking up at Leon, she starts with a frank, confessional tone.

"When we were at the Gladius, fighting the BOWs, I was terrified… But I have to admit… I was… _excited._"

Leon looks over at Helena. She guides a lock of hair back from her face. She shakes her head as she looks back at him, a faint, irrepressible smile on her face.

"I know it sounds crazy," she continues, "But I got a thrill out of it."

"It's not crazy," Leon answers flatly, "It happens to everyone."

"All of my complexity has to be simplified into something non-threatening," she says, "my contradictions have to be suppressed. When you grabbed me - the other day - and kissed me… I _liked_ it… In my professional life I want independence… But sensually, _sexually_, I like to be _controlled_. But I can't say that. If I lay my cards out, even for a moment, my credibility is gone, my career is damaged."

"Shit, you need to get fucked." Leon says with a grin.

"That's what I'm talking about," Helena blurts out, slapping him playfully across the shoulder.

They fall silent for a moment, looking back at one another as their grins dissolve from their face. Helena turns her face downwards, looking down at the bedsheets, deep in thought. Leon clears his throat.

"Look," he says, staring off into the opposite direction, "I'm sorry if I come off as an asshole… I have a lot of respect for you, but I'm not particularly good at expressing myself. I, uh… You know, I'd like to, maybe… get a little closer to you… But I don't feel this is the right time."

"Because of Ada?" Helena asks.

"I don't care about her," Leon replies.

"You're so full of shit," Helena says with a slight laugh, "That woman hangs over you everywhere you go… She has her claws in you."

"Nobody has their _claws_ in me."

"Come on," Helena says, tilting her head with a skeptical expression, "You try to present yourself as being independent, but you have a clear _weakness_ for her. Your macho persona is nothing but a facade."

"You have no fucking clue what you're talking about," Leon snaps back, agitated.

Sensing that she's getting under his skin, Helena presses on.

"You're her bitch."

"Fuck you. I couldn't care less about her."

Helena's expression changes suddenly. A misty, seductive look sweeps over her face as she crawls across the bed to Leon's side. Leaning forward on her arms she looks deep into his eyes.

"Prove it," she challenges.

Hesitating for a moment, Leon calls her challenge. Reaching around the back of her head, he pulls her head back with a rough tug of her hair. Leon presses his mouth against hers in an aggressive kiss. Kneeling up on the bed, he pulls her upward by her hair then jerks her head backwards to kiss her neck. Grabbing the straps of her undershirt, Leon pulls it down with swift motion. Her breasts exposed, the straps of Helena's shirt pin her arms at her sides. Gripping one hand over her throat, Leon kisses her again as he grabs one of her breasts roughly. Pushing her down on the bed, he pulls her pants off with a swift tug and cast them on the floor. He parts her legs and climbs on top of her - Helena looking up at him with a hazy, lustful expression. Pinning her down with a hand clasped around her throat he leans down and kisses her with erratic, quick, open-mouthed pecks. Her arms restrained at her sides, a hand clasped tightly over her neck, Helena submits as Leon draws back and runs a hand between her legs. She draws her knees upwards letting out a sharp moan, half pain, half pleasure. Grabbing her shoulder, he turns her over onto her chest. Pulling her hips up so she rests on her knees, he pulls her underwear down around her thighs. Running two fingers between her moistened labia, he hunches over her biting into her lower back. He kneels upright and begins to tug at the belt of his jeans, hastily unbuckling it. A phone rings. Snapping his head over to it, he decides to ignore it. It rings once more. Leon unzips his jeans. The phone rings a third time. Propped in an unnatural position, her arms pinned to her sides, her face down on the bed, her behind raised in the air with her underwear pinning her knees together, Helena turns her head to Leon.

"Phone," she says with an aggravated tone.

"Shit."

Leon rises from the bed holding his unzipped jeans up with one hand, and walks over to his cell phone which rests on a table by the door. The phone rings a fourth time as he picks it up.

"Jill," he says.

"Guess again," a sultry voice replies.

"Ada," Leon says with an impatient sigh.

Rolling over onto her side, Helena groans awkwardly shimmying her stretched-out undershirt up over her shoulders. Arching her back, she pulls her underwear back up.

"I hope I not interrupting anything," Ada says.

"What do you want?"

"I was wondering how you're crusade was progressing."

"What's it to you?"

"Why so hostile?" Ada asks, feigning offence, "I'm calling to help… You know I live to serve, Leon. I've come across some information you may find incredibly useful."

"What is it?"

"Well I'd be more than happy to tell you everything I know," Ada says, pausing to make sure she's arrested his attention, "But I'm afraid I'll need something from you."

Waiting momentarily, Leon doesn't respond so Ada continues.

"I'll need you to come to DC, and you'll have to bring that dreary woman you drag around."

"You're wasting my time," Leon snaps back with a cold tone. He curses under his breath as he looks over to see Helena pulling the blankets up over her.

"Think I'm bluffing?" Ada says, clearly delighted by her game, "I don't think you're in any position to doubt me."

"Just tell me where you want to meet."

"I'll see you on the 30th," Ada instructs him nonchalantly, "At noon. I'll call you tomorrow evening with the specifics."

"Fine."

"I know you'll be there," she says confidently, "Goodbye, Leon."

He hangs up the phone, setting it down on the table with a heavy sigh. Leon turns to Helena who lies beneath the blankets, looking back at him with a withdrawn, detached expression. She adjusts her marred, stretched undershirt as Leon steps towards her.

"I hope that didn't kill the moment," he says.

Helena raises a hand to him.

"Let's just go to bed," she says, "we have a long 48 hours to crack this case. We need to rest."

Leon stands motionless. Looking over at her he waits, hoping she'll change her mind; but her expression is clear, the moment has passed. Looking down at the the floor, he presses his hand to his face, cursing under his breath. Turning, he pushes his way into the bathroom.

**End of Part Two.**


	12. Chapter 12: The Paper Trail

**Disclaimer: Resident Evil, it's characters and all other copyrighted terms belong to Capcom and its respective owners.**

**********Sorry about the Hiatus: These last couple months have been very rough for me, so unfortunately I have not had the drive to write much. The good news is that we are coming around the stretch and hopefully I can finish the story soon. Your support really helps me to keep going, so please keep it coming! THANK YOU SO MUCH!**

**********Note on Part Three: Part Three is the final part. It'll be four to six chapters, so we're rounding the last bend. The evidence is starting to come together, and I promise that when the story is finished, all the loose ends will be tied up.**

**********Note on Chapter Twelve: This is the first chapter of the final part. This is a lengthy, substantive chapter which furthers the story and provides a little more evidence and clears things up a little. There is a little action/violence, but mostly this is a 'plot development' chapter. At the start there is a summary of event so far, in case you need a refresher. I know it's been awhile and people probably want some action, but unfortunately this is a chapter setting up the events to follow in part three. Hopefully you like it anyways.**

******Please Fav, Follow, and Review... But most of all, ENJOY!**

* * *

**Part Three.**

_Dearest Emma,_

_I hope this letter finds you well. No doubt you've heard the news. President Kauffman has declared war on Iran, an invasion is set to take place on the evening of December 31st. Recently, evidence has emerged which casts serious doubt on the US government's claim that the Iranian government was involved with the bombing of the MacNamara building. If this is true, we are about to engage in a war on false pretexts and thousands of innocent people will die. Needless to say, me and my associates are deeply disturbed by the rush to war._

_This is what we've found so far. In the immediate aftermath of the bombing, CIA Special Agent Helena Harper and former Raccoon Police Department Officer Leon Kennedy went to Detroit to investigate the attack. Agent Harper's view was the official one, while Kennedy believed that it was the Umbrella Corporation which was behind the attack. They went to Shen Manor, the home of one of Umbrella's major shareholders. While there, they found that - not only was Umbrella in no way involved with the attack - but that Umbrella management was keenly aware of infiltration of their laboratories by some outside force. Their T-Virus was stolen._

_After leaving Shen Manor, they visited a FEMA evac centre. There they interviewed a former secretary of the MacNamara Federal Building - a witness to the bombing. According to the secretary, she distinctly heard what she describes as 'two explosions', one on the top floor, the other coming from the basement. She also said that unidentified workmen had brought in an unidentified crate into the basement of the MacNamara building the day prior._

_Upon reviewing the actions of the alleged bomber, Karim Al-Sayid, things only get stranger. Al-Sayid was a long time CIA operative. In the past he had been enlisted as a spy, infiltrating the Iranian government, and later Al Qaida. The official story is that Al-Sayid was working for Al Qaida under the direction of the Iranian government. This conclusion is problematic. All reputable sources say that Al Qaida is viewed as a threat by Iran. The Iranian government has - to this day - denied any involvement in the attack and the government has never produced any evidence to support the claim. Al-Sayid was an admitted CIA asset and had Federal clearance right up until the day of the bombing (he used his CIA credentials to get into the building, after all). Furthermore, according to Agent Harper, Al-Sayid had met with several, high-ranking government officials in the lead up to the bombing (Hagel, Alexander, and Haldeman)._

_After their investigation, I joined them. Together we infiltrated the Gladius compound - an institution I know you're familiar with. It was, as we suspected, a sort of BOW training ground. Here we confirmed that Secretary of Defence, Emmanuel Hagel, was stationed at the Gladius. This is relevant because, not only can we connect US government officials to Al-Sayid, but to the T-Virus as well._

_I write to you to proliferate this information (should anything happen to us) and to request your assistance and expertise in this investigation. Our goal is to stop this war, and to do that, we need some connection to the US media. Enclosed are copies of the evidence we've gathered so far._

_Yours Truly,_

_- Jill Valentine (December 29, 1998)_

**Chapter 12: The Paper Trail**

Washington, DC (12/29/1998)

"I've just met with 'the Prince'," Director Haldeman says, tapping some ash from the tip of his cigar, into a glass tray sitting before him. Looking down at his decorated military uniform, he brushes off a few stray ashes. "Needless to say," he continues, "he is more than pleased with our progress."

Ada Wong leans forward, raising a glass of water to her lips and sipping from it, her eyes locked onto Haldeman. Simmons looks over at her momentarily, then back at Haldeman.

"Now, it's only a matter of letting the clock run out," Haldeman says, raising the cigar to his lips. He takes in a deep pull, holds it momentarily, then exhales, "I've discussed the invasion in great detail with the President. At 11pm, December 31st, a fleet of bombers will fly over Tehran. With a rapid sweep, we'll hit every aspect of Iranian infrastructure: bridges, hospitals, major roads, utilities, military bases… They'll be entirely decimated within 24 hours. What we have arranged is entirely unprecedented, in scope and scale. In a matter of hours we'll have dropped more bombs on Tehran than had been dropped in the first year of the Vietnam War. With Tehran in ruins, we expect that the Iranians will surrender."

"And what if they don't?" Ada interjects. The group turn to face her. "What if they are more resilient than you anticipate?"

"An excellent question," Haldeman replies, "One we've given consideration to… Our _rapid dominance_ tactic is only the first sweep. Regardless of the effectiveness of the bombing a large-scale military occupation will follow. One-third of our standing army will be deployed to Iran's five major cities… Tehran will be the easiest to control. Without water or electricity, insurgents will be too fatigued to put up considerable resistance, and the shock and terror of the _Tehran example_ will discourage combat in the other occupied territories… Should a prolonged resistance occur, all the better. We are more than prepared for such a scenario."

"War," Ada adds, "is a… _lucrative_ industry, after all."

"It would seem that way."

Leaning forward, NSA Director Michael Alexander takes a sip of water.

"And, Ms Wong," he says, "what of Agent Harper? How is that situation progressing?"

"Well," Ada says, locking eyes with her questioner; a confident, ambiguous expression on her face. She brushes her bangs back from her face, "as it happens… I've arranged to meet her tomorrow, by then I hope to, uh, _dispatch_ with her."

"Sounds good," Haldeman says with a conclusive tone, "then we'll have our final meeting tomorrow afternoon. Then we will not meet again until after the beginning of the invasion."

"I'm afraid I won't be able to make it," Ada Wong says, with a piercing stare - a smile spreading across her face.

"I have a date with Helena Harper."

Detroit, MI (12/29/1998)

Helena sits in the passenger seat of a black, four-door sedan. The windshield is shattered, the glass arching inwards - the result of Leon's impact, from the fight with the Tyrant they had killed at the Gladius compound. Leon leans left to look through a part of the windshield which is only slightly cracked. As he rounds a corner Helena looks out the window of the car. Grey clouds hang overhead as the dreary inner-city landscape passes her by. Colourless buildings fly past them: concrete and brick, liquor stores, pawn shops, and gun stores. Zombies meander down the street, their dragging feet leaving long streaks across the snow-cover sidewalks and streets. In downtown Detroit, the faces are predominantly black, and even in this post-apocalyptic city the poverty is apparent. Exhaling, Helena's breath leaves a cloud of condensation on the car window. Leon breaks the silence.

"Remind me why we're here," he says.

"We're headed to Al-Sayid's apartment building," Helena replies as she turns to face him, "The T-Virus outbreak overtook the city in a matter of hours. Al-Sayid's apartment was the next location I was supposed to hit before the attempt on my life… Presumably, someone has already gotten to it, but if we're lucky…"

"How is it that this CIA asset was living in the most impoverished community in Detroit?"

"Well, Al-Sayid had multiple aliases," she explains, "Presumably, Al-Sayid was kept in the projects to avoid detection. After all, no secret agent, Iranian or American, would be expected to live in such an impoverished area."

"But you managed to track him here."

"Not me," Helena corrects, "It was Special Agent Shafer. I found his location and alias, due to some of the few scant reports left behind after his death."

Making a right turn, the black sedan pulls up onto a wide, four-lane street. Now they are in the heart of the impoverished black community of Detroit. Even after the quarantine, it is apparent that this area was dreary and run down to begin with. Leon pulls the car up along the curb, coming to a halt in front of a chain-link fence blocking off an alleyway between two buildings. In the distance, a housing project towers overhead. Pulling the keys from the ignition, Leon turns to Helena.

"We're going to have to walk from here," he says.

"Let's do it."

In synchronicity, they step from each side of the vehicle, closing the doors behind them. They walk over to the trashcans and boxes that sit in front of the fence. Wearing a long black trench coat stopping just above her knees, her tight blue jeans run down into her tall, black, flat-heeled boots. A silver gun rests in a black holster over her grey, v-neck shirt. A light dusting of snow falls over them as Helena grabs the chain-link fence and climbs it. Coming to the top, she throws one leg over, the other falling behind it. She jumps to the ground. Following suit, Leon scales the fence as Helena heads down the narrow alleyway. The click of her heels reverberates around the snowy, cavernous crevice. In the distance, three African-American zombies shamble towards her, letting out guttural moans. She hears Leon drops to the ground behind her as she advances towards the zombies.

Pulling a silver revolver from its holster, she nears the first zombie. With blank, pale eyes, and a black football jersey, congealed blood hangs around a bite wound on its face. It stumbles slightly, then extends its arms outwards. Stepping towards it, Helena lifts her gun to its face. Firing off a shot, the bullet cuts clean through its skull and explodes out the back. Falling silent, the zombie drops heavily to the floor. She walks past it without breaking stride. Nearing the second one, it groans, its jaw hanging halfway off its face. Helena fires through its eye, the bullet blowing through its temple. The creature lurches forward. It grabs Helena's shoulders with both hands. She presses her hand against its chest, keeping it at arms length. Pressing her gun against its forehead, she fires again. With a sharp clap echoing through the alleyway, her assailant falls forward and collapses. Leon cuts past Helena, taking a few quick steps and downs the third zombie with a quick shot in the head. After all they had been through, it is apparent that Leon is still the veteran. Having survived the outbreak in Raccoon City, he seems to kill these zombies with ease. Helena watches him him with concealed admiration as he walks swiftly, with confidence, through this nightmarish alleyway. At the end of the alleyway, a tall chain-link fence with barbed wire around the top, and a second, narrower alley breaking off to the right.

"Let's find a better way through," Leon says as he turns down the adjacent alleyway.

This alley is narrower than the first. A little more than shoulder-width apart, the brick walls tower high over them. The wind howls through the space loudly. Trash litters the floor. As they walk through the claustrophobic passage they pass over discarded syringes. Clearly this is the place where junkies went to shoot up. A body wearing a dirty grey hoodie is slumped over on the floor - its back up against one wall and its feet touching the other. One sleeve rolled up, a syringe hangs from its arm. It is the body of someone who died, not from the T-Virus, but from addiction. A discarded member of society. Looking down at it cautiously, they step over it, hurrying on. A black woman, her clothes tattered, staggers towards them from the opposite end of the alleyway. She's incredibly thin, her tank top hanging off one shoulder. Bites have been taken from one arms, mangled flesh hanging loose, exposing the bone. Leon raises his gun and as he nears, and presses the end to her forehead. A deafening bang rings out and the zombie collapses backwards. Coming out the opposite side they find themselves in another, wider alley. Looking to the right, they see three zombies meandering. To the left, an opening.

Walking left, they emerge from the alleyway, coming into a large courtyard. On three sides of the courtyard, three identical housing projects. They are dreary, colourless buildings, grey concrete and brick. Looking over them, they seem oppressive by their mere presence alone. Run-down, many of their windows are boarded up. Graffiti covers its base, some of it beautiful and colourful, others dreary and crude. And, in the large open courtyard, a concrete expanse. In the centre, there is a large pile of garbage, scraps of wood, and furniture. A dozen or more bodies, predominantly black or latino, meander around the open courtyard.

"Al-Sayid's building is the central one," Helena whispers.

"We'll need to walk around the edge of the courtyard," Leon responds.

"Don't fire any shots if you don't need to. If we get outnumbered, we're in big trouble."

Leon and Helena walk quietly around the edge of the littered courtyard. Walking cautiously, guns drawn, they watch the zombies meander. A sea of groans wash over them as they creep silently. They make it to the first housing project on the left, crossing past it. Helena steps to Leon's side.

"I can't believe people lived here," she whispers.

"This is life for some people," Leon responds, his eyes locked on the monsters which linger.

"I guess for some people, the apocalypse started a long time ago."

They reach the opposite side of the building. Then the partners turn right, walking towards the stairwell of the central project. Their heads both whip to the side as they hear the sound of claws clicking on the pavement. An infected dog walks in their direction. Flesh hanging loose from its side, the dog watches them for a moment, then growls. Suddenly, it breaks into a full sprint. They draw their guns, focusing them on their attacker. Gunshots ring out as a torrent of bullets rip through the dog's body. It falls, yelping and agony. Rolling onto its back, it kicks its legs for a moment, then falls dead, blood pooling around its corpse. The zombies across the courtyard turn to them. Falling silent for a moment, they groan hungrily, staggering towards them. Some limping in a near jog, they close in on their prey.

"Quick!" Leon shouts.

They break into a sprint, making their way to some concrete stair at the base of the apartment. They run up the stairs and Leon turns the knob. _Locked._ He steps back and throws his shoulder against the door. Standing guard, Helena aims her revolver at the zombies. She fires. A bullet explodes out the back of one's head as it falls to the ground. Leon throws his shoulder against the door again. Aiming at the next, Helena fires again. Blood shoots from the side of its skull. It staggers, then continues towards them. She fires again, and her second shot tears through its neck, blood splashes out onto the pavement. It stops for a moment, then continues undeterred. Helena pulls the trigger again. A metallic click.

"Shit," Helena gasps, "I have to reload."

A throng of zombies get to the base of the stairs, as Helena grabs a box of bullets from her pocket. Popping open the cylinder, she dumps the spent casing onto the floor. A swell of undead moaning grows louder as the zombies come to the base of the stairs. Pouring the new bullets into her hand, she drops a few as she reloads her revolver. Drawing back again, Leon throws all his weight against the door. It flies open as the wood splinters.

"Get in!" he orders.

The run inside the door and slam it closed behind them, throwing their backs up agains the door.

Ann Arbor, MI (12/29/1998)

Jill Valentine's boots leave long streaks across the snow-covered sidewalk as she drags her feet - pacing listlessly. Her hands in the pockets of her waist length, black cotton jacket she hangs her head, deep in thought. As she walks across a downtown park, people walk to and fro. Life continues as usual here, but unease hangs over the population. As she passes two women standing by a light post, she hears them talking in low, concerned voices about the events in Detroit. Outside of Detroit people wonder how long it'll be before someone - or something - slips through the quarantine and the epidemic spreads to their city. Earlier, Jill had passed a newspaper stand. Purchasing one, she read of the rash of anti-Muslim violence sweeping the country. In cities and towns across America, Muslims (or people misidentified as Muslims) were being beaten or killed. The population is in a state of hysteria. Stopping at a crosswalk, she stops, looking both ways, then jogs across the street.

She had come to Ann Arbor to send the vaccine off to a trusted source. By now, the materials should be in the hand of a journalist, Emma Goldman, as well as the information they had gathered. Now, Jill waits patiently for a call from her contact. If the material does not reach Goldman, than their is no hope to duplicate and distribute the vaccine, and no hope of stopping the war. She had special delivered the package, express delivery, at six in the morning. Now, at four o'clock in the afternoon, she hasn't heard from Ms Goldman.

Jill's cellphone rings. She snatches it quickly. Pressing the answer button, she presses the phone to her ear.

"Jill Valentine," she says.

"Jill," a woman's voice replies, "it's Emma."

"Hey," Jill says, pausing so her caller can speak.

"I received your package."

"Good."

"I want you to know that I've given your materials to the right people."

"That's greats," Jill says, exhaling in relief, "and what did you think about the info?"

"I was intrigued… I think you are onto something important, but you don't have enough."

"That's what I thought."

"Listen, Jill. I don't think it's wise to talk about this too much over the phone. I want to come down there."

"I think that's a good idea… There's no flights going in or out of Detroit, though. I'm in Ann Arbor, do you think you could meet me here?"

"Yes… Yeah, of course. It's a short flight, if I'm lucky I can be there some time this evening."

"I'll meet you at the airport."

"And, Jill?"

"Yeah?"

"If you want to get this published… I think I can make it happen… but there's a problem."

"What?"

"The deadline for print is 10pm, the night before. If we want to even have a chance of doing this, we have to have everything ready by tomorrow night."

"Shit," Jill says under her breath. She bites her bottom lip, "then I guess we better get to it."

Hanging up, Jill slides the cell phone back in her pocket. Running a hand through her hair, she kicks at the floor.

"Damn it!"

Detroit MI, (12/29/1998)

Leon and Helena pass a series of doors, down a long hall of the housing project. The building has a dank, musty smell. And the narrow hall is claustrophobic and oppressive. Black marker graffiti litters the wall: gang signs, curse words, nick names. They stop in front of a fragile wooden door.

"Room 476," Leon reads, "This is it."

He tries the door. It's locked. Gripping his gun, Leon raises his leg and kicks the door open. Clutching their guns cautiously, they step into the small apartment. Neat, for the most part, there are some objects strewn about. Off to their left, there is a small kitchen, and to their right a bathroom. They walk past the kitchen into the small main room, which contains only an armchair and a television set. Next to the television, another door, partly opened. Stepping to it, Leon pushes the door open. It's Al-Sayid's bedroom. Unlike the main room, his bedroom is in disarray. The blankets lie in a bundle at the foot of the bed. Clothes are strewn about. A bedside dresser hangs open, with a pair of socks hanging over the edge. Beside the bed, a Muslim prayer rug lies. Atop a mahogany dresser lies a Koran and a small tape recorder with a microphone attached. Looking around the room, Leon spots a manilla envelope sticking out from between the mattress and the bed frame. Grabbing it, he pulls it out. Helena steps to his side as he opens it. Inside there are five pages of documentation. Flipping through them quickly, they glance over each page.

"All the pages are the same," Leon says quizzically, "it's some sort of memo."

_Agent Al-Sayid: Project 11_

_Fifteen months have passed since you enlisted in 'Project 11' though we have never disclosed what exactly your assignment entailed. As of today you should be properly positioned. We have checked and verified that you are still admitted CIA clearance, which will be integral to your task. Now it is time to know your target and objective. The target is the Patrick V MacNamara building. A federal building. Your CIA clearance should guarantee your unchallenged admittance. Tomorrow night, you will be delivered a package. Inside you will find a key and an address and a three-digit code. In the next three days, you will receive a call confirming that it is time to carry out your assignment. Upon confirming your name, the caller will say 'Southwoods'. As soon as you hear this, head to the address in the package. It will lead you to a storage facility. The number of the storage unit will be on the key. Open the storage unit and you will find a briefcase. Take the briefcase to the MacNamara building. At the front desk, give the receptionist your ID. There will be a post on the computer indicating that you have 'Top Secret' investigative materials, and they will let you pass without checking the briefcase. It will also inform them that their is a room reserved for you. They will give you the appropriate keycard. Take the elevator up to the top floor. Once there, find the room listed on the keycard. You will find yourself in a secluded office. Open the briefcase. Inside, you will find a bomb, a gun, and a gas mask. Put the mask on. To activate the bomb flick the switch, then press the green button. The timer will read 00:00:15. Fifteen seconds. The bomb is merely a gas bomb, so as long as you are off the first floor you will be unharmed. As you exit the office, run past the elevators to a stairwell at the end of the hall. Shoot anybody who gets in your way. As soon as the bomb goes off, an agent will place a briefcase in a locker at the International airport. The number is '476', the same as your apartment. As soon as you get there, enter the four-digit code included in your package. Inside you will find a briefcase. Inside it, your reward: $750, 000. Upon receiving the money, you will find a man near the entrance holding a sign reading 'Karim'. When you see him, tell him your name and he will take you to a private jet and you will be flown out of the country._

_Caution: Destroy this letter as soon as you memorise it._

_- The Prince_

"Jesus Christ," Helena gasps, looking over at Leon.

"Why did he copy it?" he replies.

Suddenly, they jump as Leon's cellphone rings. Handing the folder over to Helena, he grabs it from his pocket and presses the answer button.

"Leon Kennedy," he says.

"Hello, Leon," a voice replies.

"Ada."

Leon Kennedy walks out from the bedroom into the main room. Sighing, he runs his hand over his face as Ada Wong begins to speak.

"How's the investigation going?" she asks.

"Fine," he replies impatiently, "what do you want?"

"Always so hostile," she says, feigning offence, "I'll have you know I call to help. I'm prepared to get you all the information you need, but I need to talk to you."

"Where do you want to meet?"

"To the Northeast of Detroit, just outside of the quarantine zone, there is a building on lockdown… Come to meet me there. Take highway nine outside Detroit, and take the first exit. About ten minutes from the exit, you'll come across a second road leading off into the woods. Once you get there, you'll see the building… Can you be here in the next two hours?"

"Yeah," Leon sighs, "we'll be there."

"No, _we_," Ada corrects, "come alone."

"Fine," Leon says, then hangs up the phone.

As he heads back into the room, he sees Helena sitting on Al-Sayid's bed next to the tape recorder. She hits stop, then begins to rewind the tape.

"Leon," she says, "you have to hear this."

She hits stop. Then plays the tape. Amid thick tape hiss, a recorded phone call plays. Somewhat distorted and poorly recorded, the voices on the tape are difficult to make out. The first voice is that of a Middle Eastern man, the second an apparently American male.

"Hello?" the Middle Eastern man asks.

"Karim Al-Sayid?" the American says.

"This is him."

"Southwoods."

"I understand."

The voice on the other end ceases and the sound of a phone hanging up can be hear. After that, the recording ends.

"It's just like in memo," Helena says.

"How did he capture the call," Leon asks.

"Well," Helena starts, grabbing the microphone of the tape recorder, "apparently, he held the microphone to the receiver while he spoke, that's why the fidelity is so poor… But that's not the most important thing."

"What is?"

"The voice on the other end… That's Haldeman."

"Are you sure?" Leon asks, astounded.

"I'm ninety-nine percent sure."

"Shit."

Running his hand through his hair, Leon paces the room, trying to sort everything out. He stops and turns to Helena.

"Why record the phone call?" he asks, "Why keep the memos? Why would he incriminate himself?"

"He was trying to create a paper trail."

"In case they killed him."

"Exactly."

"But… Had he gotten away with it… Eventually this evidence would be uncovered."

"Well," Helena says, "Once he got his money, and got to Iran or wherever, he could have called them and told them he left the evidence behind and they would have come to destroy it."

"Smart move."

Suddenly, their discussion is interrupted. Outside the building, they hear the muted sounds of gunfire. Helena rises from the bed, stepping to the window. Looking outside, she see five officers, in tactical gear. They're firing into the crowd of zombies in the courtyard of the housing projects.

"They're here," Helena says.

"Let's go."

Popping open the tape recorder, Helena pockets the cassette. Grabbing the folder she follows Leon out from the apartment. Stepping into the graffitied hall, the walk down it hurriedly, coming to a t-shaped intersection. Heading down the adjacent hall, Leon catches sight of a window at the end.

"A fire escape," he says.

Breaking into a jog, they come to the window pulling it open.

"We can get out from the back of the building," Leon says, stepping aside, "You go first."

As they head out the window onto the iron fire escape, Leon closes the window behind them as they make their escape, undetected.


	13. Chapter 13: Ada's Indecent Proposal

**Disclaimer: Resident Evil, it's characters and all other copyrighted terms belong to Capcom and its respective owners.**

**Call For Support: I'm almost done the story. There'll be 3 or 4 more chapters before the story is done. If you are enjoying the story, NOW IS THE TIME TO SHOW YOUR SUPPORT. If you like what you've read, post link onto RE fan forums and inform your friends. We are coming up to the final portion of this fic so I'd like to get this done quickly. I've already started the next chapter. All of your reviews, favs, and follows are needed at this point.**

**********Note on Chapter Thirteen: This is a longer chapter, as well. We are now on the FINAL DAY of this story. After this chapter, Leon, Helena, and Jill will have a few hours to get all their evidence together. Here, Leon meets with Ada and she tells him what is really going on. The plans for their final push are laid out. WARNING: There will be some very EXTREME SEXUAL CONTENT so reader discretion is STRONGLY ADVISED. Hopefully you like it anyways.**

******Please Fav, Follow, and Review... But most of all, ENJOY!**

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**Chapter 13: Ada's Indecent Proposal**

Outside Detroit, MI (12/29/1998)

Clouds of condensation rise and dissipate from Leon and Helena's mouths as they drive uphill through a heavily wooded area. The windshield of their sedan thoroughly cracked, the cold winter air slips through into the vehicle. It's just after 6pm but the sun has already set. Now the snow falls heavily. The windshield wipers sliding back and forth does little good, the glass having warped inwards in the middle. Sitting in the passenger's side, Leon rubs his hands together for warmth as Helena drives. Over the tops of the black, silhouetted treetops, a building comes into view. Leon reaches out, pointing towards it.

"That's the place," Leon says, "take the next right."

A minute passes, and Helena comes to road branching off to the right. Turning, she comes up on a road leading off into the woods. The road is narrow, leaving just enough room for two cars to pass sides by side. Trees hang overhead. As the winding road leads deeper into the brush it ramps upwards. Helena turns to face Leon as she drives, who wears a blank expression. Before long the woods open up to a building standing among the woods. Seemingly untouched by the T-Virus outbreak, The five-story building looks well maintained. It's some sort of government building. Nearing it, there is a parkade at its base, with a steel gate blocking its entrance. The black sedan pulls up to the gate and stops, the engine still running. Shortly after, they hear a buzz as the gate slides open to allow entrance. Leon grabs the car handle.

"Are you sure I shouldn't come with you?" Helena asks.

"Ada was clear," Leon replies, turning to her with a apologetic smile, "she wants me to come alone."

"Do you think she'll actually have anything real to give us?"

"We're in no position to call her on her bluff. In any case, you have all the evidence… If this turns out to be another one of her games, we won't lose anything… I have no idea where we need to go next anyways, and we're running out of time."

Helena sighs heavily, gripping the wheel.

"Alright," she says, "be careful."

"Don't worry… Ada's made it clear she's not interested in seeing me dead. I'll call you as soon as I can. Just get rested and get ready for whatever may come tomorrow."

Helena smiles at Leon, as he pulls the handle and steps out from the car. As he closes the door and steps into the parkade, she watches him go. The steel gate slides close behind him. Stepping on the gas, she turns from the building and heads down the road she came on. Walking through the parkade, the click of Leon's shoes reverberate through the room. The orange florescent lights overhead leave small spots of light, everything outside their aura rendered totally black. As she nears the far end of the room, he sees Ada Wong standing with on hand on her hip, looking back at him with a mischievous smile. Her jet black hair combed neatly on either side of her face, she wears a black satin dress shirt, tucked into a short black skirt. He looks over her long legs down to her black high heels. Next to Ada, the chrome doors to an elevator.

"You came," she says.

"I had no choice," Leon replies.

"You look like you've been through hell."

Leon ignores her statement.

"You told me you'd have the answers I'd be looking for."

"And I do… Have I failed you yet?"

"You've double-crossed me numerous times already."

"When?"

"When you shot me."

"Oh, that," she says, tilting her head with a grin, "I apologise… But you see, I have people I need to answer to. In any case, I only took what I needed. I left you the vaccine, didn't I? I've given you leads. I've helped as much as I can… And if you knew what was happening behind the scenes, you'd know I saved your life. And for what? No _thank you_. No appreciation of any kind. I've had your back for a long time now, Leon."

"You have a strange way of showing it."

Ada laughs.

"I suppose that's true."

"Why would you want to help us, anyway?"

"This is big. _Too big_. Frankly, I don't want to be a part of this… _plan_. I do have my limits."

"I didn't think you had any limits."

"I guess you don't know me as well as you think you do."

"So," Leon says impatiently, "what the hell is going on?"

"In due time… First, there's something I want from you."

"Of course."

Laughing slightly, Ada turns to a keypad by the elevator. It beeps as Ada punches in a four-digit code. Pressing another button, the elevator doors slide open. She walks inside, then turns to Leon.

"Well," she says, "Are you coming?"

Ann Arbor, MI (12/29/1998)

Jill Valentine sits in a waiting area in the Ann Arbor national airport. The airport is largely abandoned. Few people are coming, many are going - hoping to get as far away from the site of the Viral outbreak. Sitting cross-legged, Jill rotates one foot impatiently and taps her fingers on the arms of the chair. She had been sitting in the waiting area for nearly an hour, anticipating the arrival of the journalist she had befriended while in the Sudan; but as of now, her plane had not arrived. Through the tall windows of the airport, she looks out at a plane that has just arrived. A port extending to its door as some passenger file out. The snow falls heavily outside, but the otherwise idyllic winter evening is marred by the overhanging tension of the national emergency. As the new arrivals begin to file into the lobby, Jill rises from her seat walking towards the growing crowd. Four, then five people come through the door, and then finally, the woman Jill has come to rendezvous with. Looking around herself, a thin woman, in her mid-to-late forties wanders into the lobby. Her shoulder length black hair has a streak of grey running through the bangs on one side of her face. She wears a pair of skinny, dark-blue jeans and tall brown boots. Over her close-fitting black t-shirt, an over-sized flannel shirt. The woman carries with her a large, beige shoulder bag.

"Emma," Jill calls out waving her arm.

The woman turns to her. Locking eyes with one another, they walk hurriedly towards one another. As they meet they hug each other tightly.

"Jill," she says, smiling, pressed cheek-to-cheek with her friend, "how are you?"

"Good, good," Jill replies, groaning as she squeezes her.

Jill plants a quick, platonic kiss on her friends cheek, then, placing a hand around Emma's arm, she leads her to the airport exit. Only nine people had got off the plane with Emma, a testimony to the panic following the outbreak. Jill looks over at her companion for a moment before speaking.

"So," Jill starts, "what are your thoughts on all the information I sent you?"

"It's intriguing," Emma replies, "I was hoping to discuss it in greater detail… At the very least, it makes a very strong case that the war with Iran should be postponed… But, in order to stop the war, you have to have overwhelming evidence - which you don't have."

"Where do we need to go? What do we need?"

"I honestly don't know," Emma replies, shaking her head solemnly, "At the very least, I can get your story published; but with out something damning, it'll get buried."

Reaching the exit, the glass doors slide open and they step out into the parking lot. As a gust of cold winter air blows past them, Emma Goodman folds her arms over her chest to warm herself. Snow falls heavily over them as Jill leads her to her car. Reaching Jill's black sedan, they go to opposite sides of the car. Stepping inside, Jill opens the passenger side door and Emma steps inside. Jill puts the key in the ignition and starts the engine.

As the car pulls out from the parking lot, Jill drives out onto the city streets. There is little traffic in Ann Arbor these days. They sit silently for awhile. Strangely, there is an idyllic atmosphere. As the orange streetlights glow through the veil of snow, there is a melancholic, almost romantic feeling in the air. A few minutes pass before Emma speaks.

"It's good to see you again, Jill."

"It good to see you," Jill replies with a smile, "I'm happy to see you're safe."

"I'm sorry to say that I don't know what I need to do to help you… You're probably right as far as your suspicions go - it certainly looks that way - but I have no clue how I can be of any help to you, other than getting your story published."

"That's all I need, Emma."

Turning to look out the window for a moment, she looks back at Jill. Her eyes glance over her face.

"Have you heard from Chris Redfield recently?"

"Uh… Yeah. About a week ago. He's currently in Afghanistan, following up on the story we were following in the Sudan."

"Are you worried?"

"No, Chris can take care of himself."

"When we were back in the Sudan… Seeing the way you were around each other - it was beautiful. You must miss him."

"I do… I love him, but things are so complicated right now. We're crusading for this cause. It always drags us off in different directions."

"So your his?" Emma says, her voice trembling as she says so, "His alone?"

"Not necessarily," Jill replies, looking back at her with a compassionate smile.

"I, uh," Emma starts, stumbling over her words, "I admire you so much… You're so gorgeous."

"Thank you," Jill replies, blushing slightly, "I don't want you to think I'm pushing you away… I feel the same way about you."

As the traffic lights ahead of her turn red, Jill slows to a stop.

"We have something so much bigger ahead of us," Jill says, "but I want to keep you close. As a friend _or more._"

"If we care about one another," Emma says, putting one hand over hers, "than we'll be together, regardless."

Outside Detroit, MI (12/29/1998)

A kettle whistles in the darkened suite. Unplugging it, Ada pours herself a cup of tea. Grabbing the small porcelain cup, she walks over to the dinner table. As she's about to take a seat, she turns to Leon who sits in a chair on the opposite side. His arms folded, he leans forward, his jacket hung over the back of the chair.

"You sure you don't want some tea?" she asks. Leon shakes his head. "If you insist."

Taking a seat, she blows over the tea sending steam rolling over in Leon's direction, then dissipating. She takes a sip.

"So," Leon says, "what do you got?"

"Geez," Ada replies, "It's all business with you… Alright then. First of all, we have to go way back. And I must preface this by saying, I can't tell you _everything_ I know. I don't want to implicate myself. I'll only tell you what I can - off the record - and you'll have to find proof on your own, based on what I give you. Officially, _I don't exist_."

"Alright."

"Back when we first met - in Raccoon City - I was working for an Umbrella rival based in Europe. In the immediate aftermath of the sterilisation of the city, I was approached by a much more interesting offer. For awhile, they wouldn't divulge who they were or what exactly they wanted. Instead, they payed me under the table, giving me assignments on a need-to-know basis. Without knowing who they were, it was clear that they were extremely powerful people. I remained affiliated with these shadowy figures out of sheer curiosity. I assumed they were representatives of the US government. The truth turned out to be a little more complex then I had anticipated."

Raising the porcelain cup to her lips she takes another sip. Eyeing Leon to see if she had gained his full attention.

"Go on," Leon says.

"As my involvement deepened, it eventually became apparent who they were… Rather than the US government, as some sort of monolith, it'd become clear that I was dealing with some sort of _faction_ within the government. A rogue element, warring for power. This faction wanted me to steal the T-Virus vaccine and the virus itself, from the Umbrella Corporation. Due to the fact that Umbrella is a government contractor, it was obvious that I wasn't working for the establishment itself. As my work became more crucial, and my result proved satisfactory, they brought me into their fold… Now, eventually, somehow, the Umbrella Corporation discovered my identity and sent mercenaries to kill me…"

"And who wants Helena dead?"

"The rival faction that I work for. See, the government establishment wants me dead, and the conspirators want Ms Harper dead. Under the surface of our seemingly unified government, a struggle for power and control is taking place."

"I don't understand why you'd be involved in something like this," Leon says, shaking his head, "and why you would suddenly turn on your allies."

"I joined these people out of the sheer thrill of it," Ada says as she takes another sip of tea, "And out of interest in the inner-workings of government. I have no ideology. As far as I'm concerned, politics is just a cynical game. A game between people who have power and people who want it. And as to why I'm betraying them, I'll get to that… You see, when I was stealing secrets from one faction and giving it to another, I perceived it as nothing more than a game; but, in the aftermath of the Detroit incident, it became apparent that I was involved in something much more heinous. I'm a spy, Leon, I'm not in the business of war and terrorism."

"You are now."

"Apparently so."

"So, why don't you out them?"

"If I do that, I'm dead. And I'm not interested in dying."

"Alright," Leon says, running a hand through his hair, "keep talking."

"So, they almost totally brought me into their circle. They are a small group - maybe a dozen people. They refer to themselves as _The Family_. They orchestrated the Detroit incident for a pretext for a war with Iran, and a crackdown on civil liberties. They represent a radical wing within the government, and a catalysing event like this raises them, and their ideological agenda from a position of power, to the very apex."

"Who is 'The Prince'?"

"I don't know. Whoever it is, he must be inside the White House. The President, the Attorney General… I honestly don't know."

"Who is in The Family?"

"The whole thing is led by the Director of the CIA, General Robert Haldeman. Under him, CIA Assistant Director Henry Rumsfeld, Secretary of Defence Emmanuel Hagel, NSA Director Michael Alexander, Assistant Director Derek Simmons, FBI Assistant Director Paul Emmerich, and a few other agents of the CIA, NSA, and FBI… Those are all the people I know of."

"Jesus," Leon exhales, "so they are at the heads of every major US Intelligence agency."

"Their grip over the FBI is tenuous, but they have almost every major government position in their grips."

Leon sits back in his chair, reeling from this revelation. Looking around the room he tries to take it all in.

"I believe," Ada continues, "That 'The Family' duplicated the T-Virus and its vaccine and gave it to the Russians and the Chinese."

"In exchange for the withdrawal of their support for Iran."

"I think so."

"So… Where do we go from here? How do we get the evidence we're looking for? If this group is so impenetrable, how could we possibly infiltrate the group?"

"I know exactly how."

"How?"

"I have hacked into the personal computer of Assistant Director Simmons. I have no way of getting the info out without implicating myself, but I had learned that a physical copy of their broad plans exist. They have a manual, detailing their plans and ideology, which they refer to as 'The New American Century'. But they are located within the Federal Building in Washington, DC. I can get you the exact location of their manifesto, and get you inside the building."

"How?"

"I'm prepared to give you everything you need. But this is where I have something I want from you first."

"What is it, Ada?"

"If this is tracked back to me, they'll kill me. Or torture me. If I help you with this, you have to make it worth my while."

"Get to it."

"You and I have unfinished business, Leon," Ada says, a suggestive expression coming across her face.

As Leon looks back at her, perplexed, she sets down her tea. Raising one hand to her chest she unbuttons the top of her shirt. Then moving down, she undoes one button after the next. Untucking her shirt, it lies open exposing the sides of her breasts. Leaving her shirt in place to tease, she looks back at Leon with a confident expression.

"Ada," Leon says slowly, his eyes running over the space between her undone blouse, "I can't."

"You can," Ada replies, "and you will."

Pulling back her shirt, she lets it slide from her slender shoulders. Pale moonlight shining over her, Ada's full breasts lie bare as Leon falls silent. She rises from her chair and walks over to him, sliding out from her heels as she sits on his lap. Her hand rises to his face, then runs over his cheek softly. They lock eyes. Ada looks at him with a foggy, dreamy expression. She runs her hand through his hair as she looks over his face. She leans in to feign a kiss then pulls back. Ada unbuttons his dress shirt, slowly and deliberately. Drawing it open, she looks sympathetically over the bruises and cuts her had amassed over the passing days. Placing her palms over his chest, she runs her hands over his body. She locks eyes with him once more, Leon looking back with a cool, detached expression, but his passivity betrays him. Ada places her hand on his chin once more, running her thumb over his bottom lift. Leaning in, she runs her cheek over his, then presses her lips against his in a soft, slow kiss. She sighs softly, then kisses him again.

Standing up, she draws a long leg over his, then sits again, straddling his lap. Running her hands over his shoulders, she kisses him again as she pushes her hips against his. Ada rises, and taking his head in her hands, she presses one breast against his lips. Leon takes her nipple in his mouth and for the first time, he raises his hands, placing them around her waist. His resolve breaking, he begins kissing her breasts with helpless lust. As he sucks on one breast he bites softly and Ada lets out a slight moan. His hand takes her other breast, caressing it as he loses himself entirely. Pulling away, Ada sits on his lap again and pulls his shirt down off his shoulders as they kiss each other voraciously.

"Leon," she says softly, "I'm tired of fucking people I have no interest in… I want _you_."

She rises and turns her slender back to him, walking to a bed on the opposite side of the suite. Stopping in front of it, she undoes a zipper on the side of her skirt, then shimmies as she pulls it down. The skirt drops to the floor and she runs her hands over her plump, perky behind - smoothing out the black, lacy underwear she wears. She looks back at Leon over her shoulder, who watches spellbound, with a smokey, come hither stare. Then she climbs up on the bed, swinging her hips as she crawls up on it. Lying down on her stomach, she sighs again, waiting patiently for her prey to come to her.

Watching for a moment, Leon obediently rises and follows her to the bed. Climbing up beside her, she lies silently as he runs his hands over her behind. Pulling close to her, he kisses her shoulder as he runs a hand under her panties. She pushes her hips up as he pulls them down over her legs. As she draws her legs out, he drops her underwear by the side of the bed. She rolls over onto her back and drops her back over her head as she looks up at him passively. Leon leans over and kisses her as he runs his hands over her moist labia. Ada puts her hand atop his head and pushes it down - a subtle indication of her directions. Crawling over, he steps between her legs, running his hands over her thighs as he parts them. Running one hand over her waist, he leans forward pressing his lips between her legs. She moans with pleasure as she slides one foot against his thigh. Eagerly, Leon kisses Ada's privates, then runs his tongue against her clitoris. Kneeling upright, Leon unbuckles his belt, then unzips and pulls down his faded jeans and drops them at the foot of the bed, then follows with his grey boxer-briefs. Climbing atop Ada, she suddenly shoots upright, pressing a hand against his chest.

"What is it?" Leon asks.

"Not yet," Ada replies, "I may not get to do this again."

Pushing Leon onto his back, she hunches over him kissing his chest, guiding her fingertips over his side. Slowly she goes downwards running her hands over his sharply defined abs. Getting to his waist, she takes his cock in her hand, stroking it as she runs her lips over his midriff. Exhaling, she presses her lips to the tip of his cock, teasing slightly before slides it into her mouth. Her head bobbing slowly, Leon lets out a long sigh and puts his hand on the back of Ada's head. Running her tongue over his shaft, she draws back, guiding her tongue over his head as she releases him. Kissing his abs once more, she climbs atop him and sits back, run her hands over his chest.

"Leon," she whispers, her eyes tearing up slightly, "I love you."

"No you don't," Leon replies.

"Yes, I do," Ada insists, nodding solemnly, "and you love me, too."

Taking his cock, she sits on top of it. Leon grips her thigh as he feels himself enter her. Falling silent as he feels her tight, wet apex.


	14. Chapter 14: The Plan

**Disclaimer: Resident Evil, it's characters and all other copyrighted terms belong to Capcom and its respective owners.**

**Hey, What's Going On?: Sorry for the extremely long delay, but, to be quite honest, things are _not_ going well right now. I've lost my job and have had barely enough money to eat for the last few months. My phone and internet are on the verge of being disconnected and I may very well lose my apartment... So I haven't been in the mood for writing. I don't want to bitch and I'm not looking for pity, I just wanted to let you know _why_ things are taking so long, and why it may continue this way.**

**********Note on Chapter Fourteen: This is a longer chapter (as it should be after such a long wait). We are now on the FINAL HOURS of this story. The plans for their final mission are initiated. There is no sex or violence, just boring story development. Hopefully you like it anyways.**

******Please Fav, Follow, and Review... But most of all, ENJOY!**

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**Chapter 14: The Plan**

Outside Detroit, MI (12/30/1998)

Leon stands shirtless in the suite he had spent the night in. He runs a hand over his face as a sullen guilt washes over him. The sky is mostly clear today, and by the sunlight filtering in through the window he can tell that it's almost noon. Grabbing his dress shirt, he slides it on and begins to button it. Lying in the bed in front of him, Ada Wong blinks slowly as she slowly awakens. For the first time since they have met, he sees her clearly. The sunlight from the window frames her perfectly. She seems to possess an almost angelic glow - nothing in her appearance seems to convey her duplicitous nature. Ada rolls over and looks to Leon with a doe-eyed expression. The blankets drawn over her breasts, she opens her mouth to speak.

"It was better than I imagined," Ada says groggily.

Leon nods silently, fastening the last button. Doing his best to conceal his feelings he casts his eyes down at the floor. He walks over to the bed, sitting on the side. He guides his hair back with one hand, sighing heavily. Leaning forward he drops his head in his hands.

"Forget about that dreadful woman," Ada says.

"She's my partner."

"You can't fight it," Ada says with a manipulative grin as she sits up in the bed, holding the blankets over her breasts.

"I've held up my end of the bargain."

"You certainly have."

"So," Leon snaps impatiently, "You have to help us out."

"I'm a woman of my word," Ada says. Keenly aware of the urgency of his awaited tasks she cuts directly to the chase, "The Family is based out of the Federal Intelligence Headquarters in Washington, DC. The security is tight, and only officials of the highest clearance can gain access to the building… The building is twelve stories high. Next to it, there is another Federal Building. The CIA Headquarters. You can gain access to that building with anyone who has CIA clearance."

"Helena."

"Exactly," placing a finger on her chin, a self-satisfied smile comes across her face as she unfolds her plan, "Now, one could get access to the Federal building, by making their way from the top of the CIA building, to the roof of the Federal building."

"And how do we do that?"

"That's the only gap in the plan… In any case, even if you could gain access to the building, security is much too tight to get very far. You need some way to shut down the system. Luckily, I know just how to do it. Through the computers in the CIA building, you can gain access to the network with the Federal Headquarters, if you have access to the accounts of one of the high-level officials who work there. It just so happens that I have the username and password of Assistant Director Simmons. In my purse I have a disc, containing a potent computer virus. From the CIA building you can shut down their security system with it. This will not only shut off all cameras, but unlock all electronically locked doors. In the basement of the Federal Headquarters is a BOW lab, housing the so-called 'Napoleon Project'. With their system shut down, they will be cast into total disarray and you should be able to pass through with little struggle."

"And this manifesto," Leon interjects, "The New American Century… Where would we find it?"

"It'll be on the 2nd basement level, in Haldeman's office. All doors use a keycard system, so with the system shut off, you should be able to enter any door you like."

"Sounds like a suicide mission."

"Suicide is such a dismal term," Ada says playfully, "think of it as a challenge."

Leon rises from the bed. Placing a hand on his chin he begins to pace along the length of the bed. Losing himself in thought momentarily, he turns back to Ada.

"Once the system is off, can't we just enter through the front door?" he asks.

"Not likely… This is the most heavily guarded building after the Pentagon. You need to find some way to get down from the CIA building to the neighbouring rooftop. And, one more thing. You should bring three people, one person to plant the virus, while the other two infiltrate the building."

"Where's the disk?"

"It's in my purse."

Pointing over at a bedside table, Leon walks over to it. Reaching inside, he retrieves the disk. Printed on its label, Simmons' username and password.

"How are you going to get from one building to the next?" Ada asks.

"I'm not sure," Leon replies, "but I have a feeling Jill will know."

An Hour Later

Flint, MI (12/30/1998)

Sitting in a chair by the door of her motel room, Helena loads shells into a black Remington shotgun. She wear a black blazer, with a white dress shirt tucked into her black dress pants. As she loads the last shell, she cocks her gun. Setting the gun on the floor, she retrieves a cellphone from her pocket and dials a number then raises the phone to her ear.

"Jill Valentine," the voice on the other end answers.

"Jill, it's Helena. We've got our break."

"That's great," Jill replies formally. She pauses, waiting for the catch.

"There's a problem though."

"What is it?"

"We have to get from a neighbouring building to the roof of the Federal Headquarters."

"_What?_"

"There is no way inside the building, except for the roof. We _can_, however, get into the building next door. Our only hope…" Helena pauses, suddenly aware of how ridiculous their circumstance his become, "Our only hope is to drop from the roof… Maybe by a _zipline_ or… I don't know…"

A moment of silence passes. Helena bites her lip anxiously.

"How far is the drop?" Jill asks.

"There's a 20 floor descent from the top of CIA Headquarters to the Federal Building."

Jill falls silent for a minute.

"I think I can arrange something."

"Really?"

"Yeah… Not by zipline… But I should be able to find something."

"Let's hope so."

3 hours later

Washington, DC (12/30/1998)

Leon Kennedy paces around the motel room. Suddenly pivoting, he walks to the motel window, parting the blinds to look outside. Sighing impatiently, he lets the blinds snap shut. Hours have past since they had last spoken with Jill. Seated in an armchair by the door, Helena waits with a duffel bag at her feet. She watches her partner pacing anxiously around the room. An electric tension hangs in the air. Sitting back, Helena crosses her legs. Suddenly, Leon stops, turning to her.

"This is insane," he says, sighing again.

"It is," Helena replies, nodding soberly, "we're going in to a heavily guarded government building, effectively an act of treason, with dozens of armed and trained law enforcement. We're infiltrating a building which stations our nations most powerful officials. A building which holds BOWs, and if everything goes according to plan, we'll release them from their cells and we'll have to weave our way through who knows how many of them to get to Haldeman's office. And all of this is based on the word of Ada Wong - a habitual liar."

"I trust her on this one," Leon interjects, though his tone seems less confident, "she wouldn't send me into a situation like this if there wasn't some truth to what she's said."

"Even if she's telling the truth," Helena says, shaking her head, "how do we know they haven't moved this _manifesto_ - or destroyed it?"

"We don't."

Helena leans forward, pressing a hand to her face and groaning. She runs her fingers through her hair. Falling silent, she looks over at her partner as though she's struggling to get something off her chest. Sitting back suddenly, she starts to speak, then freezes, seeming to change her mind. She looks away for a moment, then turns back once more.

"_Leon_?" she says, her voice suddenly thinner, higher than before.

He looks her in the eyes, seeming to anticipate her question.

"When we first went to me Ada," she starts, staggering on her words, "you told me she never does anything unless… unless she gets something out of it… What exactly did she want from _you_?"

Leon looks back at her for a long moment, then looks away without responding. Helena nods with guarded composure.

"I see," she says with a distant, meek tone.

A long moment passes and the partners exchange no words. Both of them understand that this in no way changes their current mission. All other matters need be set aside until the task is complete. Still, a tense silence prevails. For near an hour Helena checks and re-checks her duffel bag, making sure everything is in order. Though it is only in the late afternoon, the short winter day is ending and the sunlight is dimming. Finally, a knock comes on the door. Leon races over to open it and there stands Jill Valentine. Dressed in inconspicuous business attire she smiles nervously as steps in side, seeming only vaguely aware of what is at stake. Leon and Helena stare at Jill intently, waiting for her news. For a moment she looks back at them perplexed, then finally realises that they are waiting on her to speak.

"Oh," she blurts out, gesturing to her car as she closes the door, "I got em'… Military grade parachutes… Don't ask me how I got them."

"Thank God," Helena responds as she and Leon let out a sigh of relief.

"So," Jill says, looking at Leon and Helena alternately, a quizzical expression on her face, "what's the plan?"

Helena looks at Jill, somewhat perplexed by her nonchalance. She clears her throat, rising from the chair by the door. Pausing for a moment, she tries to gather her thoughts.

"We'll take your car to the CIA building, Leon will be handcuffed," She starts, going through the plan she's been reciting again and again in her head for the last several hours, "Once we get inside we'll head to the reception. I'll introduce myself, show them my credentials, and hopefully they'll let us pass without too much scrutiny. We'll take all of our equipment up to an interrogation room. Once we're up there, we'll take off Leon's cuffs and you two will head up to the roof. In the meanwhile, I'll be on the computer, trying to access Simmons' computer. Once I successfully upload the virus, I'll call you and give you the signal… You'll have to jump off the roof and parachute onto the neighbouring building. From there, Leon will guide you to the appropriate room. As soon as I'm ready to go, I'll come up to the roof and parachute after. Hopefully I can catch up with you guys… Once we get their manifesto, we get the fuck out of there."

"Sounds insane," Leon says, shaking his head.

"Sounds fun," Jill chimes in with a grin.

_An hour later_

Driving down the snow-covered street, Jill's black sedan pulls to a stop in front of a tall building. Some thirty stories in height, it stands next to a shorter cylindrical building, the outside of which is covered in pristine glass, gleaming orange from the light of the setting sun. Pulling the keys from the ignition, Jill turns to Helena, who sits in the passenger seat.

"That's the Lyndon Johnston Federal Building," Helena says, pointing to the cylindrical building, speaking in a rapid, urgent tone, "That where we need to go."

Leon sits in the back seat of the car, his hands cuffed behind his back.

"Alright," with a formal confidence, "there's no turning back now."

"Let's go," Jill adds.

Jill and Helena exit the vehicle. Walking around to the back, Jill opens the trunk. Sitting in the back of the car there are two large duffel bags. Helena grabs one, Jill the other. They throw them over their shoulders. Walking around to the backseat door, Jill opens it and Leon steps out from the vehicle. With his hands cuffed behind his back, he hangs his head, playing the part of a prisoner. Helena takes him by the arm, leading him towards the building. Reaching the door, Jill opens it, letting her partners walk into the lobby ahead of her. Inside, there is a great deal of activity. Dozens of agents criss-cross through the main lobby. It's busier than Helena had anticipated and she starts to feel a little more confident. On their left, a large reception area with a row of operators sitting behind the desk, some working at computers, others tending to suited men. Past the desk a row of metal detectors with armed guards standing by each one. The trio walk across the lobby to the front desk. Finding a free receptionist, Helena stops in front of her, holding Leon by the arm.

"Special Agent Helena Harper," she says firmly, holding out her badge for the receptionist, "This is STARS agent, Jill Valentine. We have in our custody a high-priority domestic terrorism suspect along with a cache of weapons. We need to take this suspect into an interrogation room as soon as possible."

Looking back at her the receptionist takes a long look at her ID, then turns and begins to type at her computer. She looks up at Helena with a smile.

"Absolutely, Agent Harper," she responds, "take your suspect to terminal three. An armed guard will escort you to an interrogation room."

"Thank you."

Turning from the reception, they cross the lobby to the third metal detector. Behind it, two armed guards. Situated next to the terminal a conveyor belt with an X-Ray machine. They drop their duffel bags onto the belt. Jill and Helena unclip their sidearm holster and place them on the conveyor. They pass through the metal detector. As Leon passes through the machine goes off. Taking out a metal detector wand, the guard passes it over his body. As it runs over his handcuffs, the wand crackles.

"All good," he says with a nod, placing the wand in a holster on his hip.

Jill and Helena retrieve their sidearms and clip them back to their belts. The second guard grabs one duffel bag, Jill grabbing the second. He steps to Helena.

"Agent Harper?" he asks. Helena nods, "I'm here to escort you to an interrogation room."

"Thank you."

They follow the guard to a row of elevators. The fourth one from the left sits open, reserved for their use. Stepping inside, the guard puts a key into the panel, then presses a button to close the doors. The guard presses twenty-eight and the elevator rises. Silence falls over the group as they make their way upwards. Suddenly, Helena begins to panic. A vacuous silence occupies the elevator. A loyal officer all her life, she finds herself acting in violation of the law she was sworn to uphold. She wonders if she should be speaking, if their silence is suspicious, but she can't think of anything to say. Holding Leon's arm, Helena eyes the guard uneasily, but he doesn't seem to suspect a thing. Leon hangs his head, his hair covering his face for the most part. He wears a disconsolate expression, never breaking character in the off chance that he may arouse suspicion. The ride seems to last an hour. She wonders if the doors will open to reveal a cadre of police officers with guns drawn, to take them into custody for conspiring against the state. Then another sudden fear hits, that she may have forgotten or lost the disc. Placing a hand in her pocket, Helena runs a finger along the disk they had been given by Ada.

The elevator pulls to a stop and the doors slide open. They're lead down a hallway and the guard stops before one of the many doors. The label on the door reads 'Interrogation Room 2803'. Pulling a set of keys from his pocket, their accompanying officer opens the door and they step inside. In the centre of the room, there is a table with a chair on either side. One wall is covered with a large, two-way mirror. Walking over to the table, he sets down his duffel bag, then turns to Helena.

"Do you need any assistance?" he asks.

"Uh, no," Helena replies, trying to keep her composure, "I'll contact the front desk if I need anymore assistance."

Handing her the keys, he turns and exits, leaving the door open. As soon as the guard is out of sight, Helena begins to relax a little. She realises that her heart is pounding, so much so that she can hear her own pulse. Walking over to one side, Helena pulls the chair out then turns to Leon.

"Have a seat Mr. Kennedy," she says.

His hands still restrained beside his back, Leon walks over to the chair and takes a seat silently, looking back a her with a stoic yet combative expression. None of them want to break character. There may be security cameras, or official following the movements, waiting for them to betray themselves.

"Agent Valentine," Helena says, turning to Jill, "If you could accompany me."

Grabbing the other duffel bag, Jill follows Helena from the room. Closing the door, Leon hears a click as Helena locks the door from the other side.

Pushing open the front door, Ada Wong steps into the foyer from which Helena, Leon, and Jill had just come. Wearing a black blazer, white dress shirt, and black skirt. With long strides she walks to the front desk of the Federal Building. Stopping before the receptionist, she pulls a CIA ID from her pocket, flipping it open in front of her.

"Agent Xi Chen," Ada says, "I'm here on urgent business."

The receptionist checks the computer for a moment. Then turns back to Ada.

"Yes, Ms Chen," she says, "how can I help you?"

"I'm here on urgent business. I have to speak with Special Agent Helena Harper. Can contact me as soon as she comes in?"

"You just missed her."

"Oh?" Ada says, feigning surprise, "It's vital that I speak with her as soon as possible. Where can I find her?"

"One moment."

Typing away, the receptionist scans over some information before turning back to her.

"She's on the twenty-eighth floor," she says, "Interrogation Room 2803… Is there anything else I can help you with?"

"No," Ada says with a smile, "that'll be all."

Looking through the two-way mirror Jill watches Leon sitting in the interrogation room. He looks down at the table, his hair hanging in front of his face. In the darkened room, Helena sits at a computer her eyes scanning over it intently. Opening a series of folders she comes across a file labelled 'Johnson Building Network'. Opening it there is a list of names for high-ranking members, among them 'Derek Simmons'. She double-clicks on his name. _Connect to Derek Simmons Computer? _Helena clicks 'yes'. A window pops up with two blank spaces: _username, password_. Retrieving the disc Ada had given them, she enters the info scrawled on it.

_adawong1974_

_thefamily_

Hitting enter another screen pops up. It's the desktop for Simmons PC in the neighbouring building. Helena pops in the disc. When its icon appears on the desktop, she right clicks and selects _Upload Contents._ Another window pops up, with a progress bar, as the virus begins to upload. Helena turns to Jill.

"Take Leon to the roof," she says, her tone calm but urgent, "then wait for my call… Once the virus takes effect you'll have to move as quickly as possible."

"Aren't you coming?"

"I have to stay here and make sure it works. I have no idea how much time we'll have until they get their security back online… I'll follow behind you."

"Got it," Jill replies, and turns away carrying both duffel bags.

Making her way back into the interrogation room she walks over to Leon.

"You'll need to come with me, Mr. Kennedy."

Taking him by the arm, she leads him from the room, as though she were escorting a prisoner. They walk at a slow casual pace down the hall so as to avoid arousing suspicion. Other agents pass by them as they go, paying no mind to the pair. As they come to the end of the hall Jill pushes open a pair of double doors leading into a stairwell. As soon as they hear the doors close behind them, they break into a run. Running up the stairs there steps echo throughout the stairwell as they make their way to the top. They exchange no words, only panting as they race up several floors, eventually coming to the top. Pushing open the door, they're blinded momentarily by the setting sun, which has turn the sky crimson. The door slams shut behind them and Jill drops the duffel bags reaching into her pocket to retrieve the keys to Leon's handcuffs. Grabbing his arm she unlocks the. Hooking the cuffs to his belt. As Leon rubs his wrists, Jill kneels before the duffel bags ripping them open. The first bag is filled with military grade weapons: tactical shotguns, assault rifles, handguns, satchels filled with ammunition. Filing through them she begins to grab out her weapons of choice, slinging rifles over her shoulder, clipping holstered handguns to her belt, and taking the corresponding ammunition. Leon follows her lead, taking what he needs; but they leave a handful of arms behind for Helena.

In the second duffel bag there are three parachutes. In green, camouflage backpacks, they were procured from one of Jill's contacts. Grabbing one each, they slide them on in tandem, buckling a pair of straps across there chests. And, in that moment, Jill's cellphone rings. Pulling it from her jacket pocket she answers.

"Jill," she says.

"Now," Helena's voice replies.

"Got it."

Sliding the phone back into her pocket Jill turns to Leon, letting out an anxious sigh.

"This is it," she says.

They walk to the edge of the rooftop and look down to their destination. It's a fifteen story drop to the roof below, their fates determined by the reliability of their parachutes. Jill's stomach tightens as she assesses the precipitous drop.

"I'll go first," Leon says, without taking his eyes off the building below.

He walks backs from the edge slowly, some ten or twelve feet, then stops. He takes a wide stance, rocking side-to-side as though he's preparing for a race. Drawing in a deep breath, he shakes his arms out then exhales. Lunging forward, he breaks into a sprint. As he reaches the edge he grunts as he leaps of the roof of the building. A knot forms in Jill stomach as she watches him fall several stories at an incredible speed, but soon after the white parachute bursts out from his backpack and she watches him drift down to the rooftop below. Looking down at him she sees Leon wrestles out from under the huge white sheet, then tossing his backpack aside. He turns and looks up at her, waving to show that he's alright.

Jill combs her fingers through her hair, exhaling nervously.

"Okay."

She backs from the edge of the building, as far back as she had seen Leon go then stops. Taking a runner's stances she rock back and forth, shifting her weight between her back foot and her leading foot. She exhales, her lips twisting into a nervous smile.

"Here goes nothing."

Jill sprints toward the edge of the building and leaps into the air.


End file.
